


To My Heart and Soul

by rosegoldroman



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: "death" :), Abusive Deceit, Blood, M/M, Villainous Deceit, injuries, lots n lots of angsty drama, past abusive anxceit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 06:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 34,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20286835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldroman/pseuds/rosegoldroman
Summary: Roman Cygnus has been dead for nearly a year, and Logan still can’t bring himself to move on. It’s hard not to dwell when all the light has been stolen from the world, leaving it barren and dark. But he has to move on — he has to face the facts. Roman is gone.But then a stranger in a patchwork cloak saves his life, and he’s thrown into a world of magic he could never hope to understand — a world that Roman once called home. But where there’s magic, there’s danger — and here it takes the form of Dorian, a dark wizard bent on taking over the magical world.With Roman’s brother Patton by his side and a whole new world to explore, Logan races to find Roman’s secret weapon before Dorian attacks. But along the way, he finds himself asking a question he’d vowed to never ask again.Is Roman really dead?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is!!! My entry for the 2019 ts big bang!! my artist this year was @cause-a-gay-has-got-to-slay on tumblr, go check them out and send them some love!!

It was a gloomy day for a wedding anniversary.

The sky hung heavy and cold above a cold, dreary world, cutting deep shadows across the city below. Freezing, unforgiving rain battered anyone unlucky enough to be caught outside, driven by a fierce, unrelenting wind. Jagged lightning cracked through the sky, roaring with furious thunder that shook the earth and its inhabitants to their core.

Most people wouldn’t want to be caught dead in such horrible weather. Logan wasn’t most people. He pressed through and weathered the storm. Of course he did; it was his __anniversary,__ he wasn’t about to let a bit of inclement weather stand in his way. He was more than capable of handing himself, and more than capable of ignoring the strange looks he got from the florist and the baker when he stomped inside, sopping wet, to collect his flowers and cupcakes. It was worth it; always was, always is, always will be.

It had been worth it three years before, when he’d stood on a sheltered alter, a gentle summer’s rain falling around the procession. Who needed the sun? Every cloud in the world couldn’t possibly block out the warmth of Roman’s smile, the light of his love. As he left the bakery with a box of pastries tucked under his arm, he saw the lightning and thought of the shine in Roman’s eyes, heard the thunder and thought of the deep rumble of his voice.

And it had been worth it two years before, as annoying as the crowded streets of Disney World had been. Roman’s beaming smile, sugared with love and a fortune’s worth of churros, made it alright. Their bond had made even the overwhelmingly nonsensical nature of __Fantasyland__ enjoyable.

He smiled to himself, walking slowly so the bouquet of flowers sheltered in the crook of his arm wouldn’t fall. The memories filled him with warmth, painting soft pink across his soaking-wet cheeks.

And a year before, when Roman had nearly burned their house down trying to cook for him — that had been worth it, too. Worth it to see Roman’s sheepish smile, to hear him sing as they cleaned together, to have him cuddle into Logan’s side when they ordered pizza and watched movies well into the night.

Three years of memories. Three years of love. Logan wouldn’t trade them for every ounce of knowledge in the world. There wasn’t a single moment with Roman that wasn’t worth saving.

He rounded the corner and hesitated. His heart dropped into his stomach. Three anniversaries, spent with Roman…

And now, he’d have to spend one without.

He took a deep breath and steadied himself, starting towards the cemetery gates before the unshakable sadness coiling in his gut could force him to turn around. He navigated the maze of headstones with a familiarity he wished he didn’t have, peering through the rain and fog.

He stopped without meaning to when it came into view. Eleven months of grief, of therapy, of preparation, and he couldn’t possibly have predicted how __agonizing__ this was. It stood apart from the rest, it seemed, just as Roman had stood apart in life. His name was etched in cursive, the way he would have wanted it, beneath a gemstone-encrusted approximation of the constellation Cygnus.

“Hello, sunbeam.” Logan lowered himself to the ground beside the headstone, shivering and dripping wet. He cleared his throat, offering the gravestone what he hoped was an acceptable smile. “I apologize for being late. This weather is… not ideal. You would have liked it, though.”

He would have, in his own Roman way — he would have seen the storm for its energy, for its light, and for the light it brought to the world around it. He hoped Roman could see it, wherever he was.

“I brought you some flowers,” he said, setting the dripping bouquet against the cold gravestone. “Carnations and baby’s breath, the same as the one you held at our wedding. And some cupcakes, although I’m afraid the rain might have gotten to them a bit. I would have attempted to bake them myself, but, ah… you know how I am in the kitchen.”

Silence. A million emotions swirled in his stomach, too overwhelming to name; shame reared its ugly head and demanded he leave, and grief stabbed right through it with an agonizing twinge. Logan’s eyes began to sting and he grit his teeth, hands curling into tight fists. He could practically hear what Roman would have said, that infuriatingly teasing lilt to his voice. __“Yes, I do, and so does the entire fire department, my starshine. We’re both woefully lacking in the culinary department, I’m afraid.”__

God, he wished Roman was there. He’d never longed for much, before Roman came into his life — but now that he was gone he __ached__ for the light that had been stolen from him, for the warmth of his touch and the brightness of his smile and the comfort of his soul. How could one so bold, one so bright and big, be taken away so quickly? How could a __car__ kill someone with so much __life?__

__Easily,__ said the logical part of his mind, and listed the facts of the crash in rapid-fire succession, a desperate bid to drown out the overwhelming grief. __He was only human.__

But he was so much more, and so much better. Logan’s eyes burned, and he swiped a hand across them, his chest tightening. He wouldn’t — __couldn’t__ — do this. No matter how much it hurt. He’d spent nearly a year drowning in grief and loss already — he had to move on — he had to stop, stop, __stop —__

A sob wrenched its way from his throat and he curled in on himself, his breath hitching in his throat. __No, no, no —__ he couldn’t break down, he couldn’t do this again, he couldn’t —

His umbrella fell to the ground with a dull splash and he pressed his hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. Red-hot tears carved their way down his face alongside a deluge of freezing cold rain, and he whimpered, a broken man, a broken heart.

“I miss you,” he croaked. He leaned against the slick headstone and wrapped his arms around himself, and wished for all the world to be in Roman’s arms again. His absence was a dull knife through his heart and he __hated__ it, he hated the emptiness and the cold and the quiet, hated the darkness that Roman had left behind, hated him for leaving. He just wanted to go home.

But home was buried six feet beneath him and he’d never find it again.

He stayed there longer than he’d planned, until the rain had soaked him through and left him a shivering heap. The roses drooped against the cold stone of Roman’s grave; the gloom of the world had driven their color away. There was only darkness, now, tendrils of heartbroken shadow trailing from the rainy sky above, drowning the world in black-and-white, coalescing at the center of the graveyard and —

Wait.

Logan blinked. He sat up straighter, scrubbing tears and rain from his eyes, his eyebrows furrowing. He must have fallen asleep — he had to be dreaming — because there was no other logical explanation for what he was seeing. Shadows, gathering into hulking beasts before him, their eyes glinting malevolent gold, hauntingly echoed growls building in their throats.

Logan scrambled to his feet. The creatures weren’t disappearing, and none of his usual methods succeeded in waking himself from this nightmare. The beasts advanced slowly, precisely, predators after their prey. The rain sizzled against their silver-black backs, sending steam curling up into the air. Blinding gold liquid dripped from their eyes and bored straight into Logan’s soul.

No. No, this wasn’t happening. Grief had many side-effects, and Logan was all-too-familiar with its nightmares. Trembling — from cold, from fear, from hurt — he stepped forward, shaking his head. The creatures paused, watching him with eyes far-too-intelligent…

And then they __lunged.__

A wall of shadows slammed into Logan with a deafening bolt of thunder, sending him flying backwards into Roman’s grave. Agony shot down each limb and he choked on a scream. Bright lights danced before his eyes and shadows tugged at the edge of his mind as he slipped in and out of consciousness, his body buzzing numbly. Lightning roared overhead; the beasts roared below.

He stared down a snarling snout lined with razor-sharp teeth and knew he was about to die. Atop his husband’s grave, killed by shadow-creatures that had no logical right existing. He closed his eyes as hot, musty breath washed over his face.

At least he’d be able to see Roman again.

Something yelled, and suddenly the weight on Logan’s chest was knocked away. A blur of black and purple tumbled through the graveyard and kicked the beast away with a war-like cry. The other three circled him, growling furiously.

The newcomer wore a dark cloak patched with purple, their face sheathed in shadows. They held a curved dagger in one hand and held the other, palm out, towards the creatures. Time seemed to slow; the world held its breath as the newcomer and the shadows circled each other. The stranger flipped the dagger in their hand. The beasts snarled, snapping at the air.

With a hellish bark, the biggest of the beasts lunged — and the stranger twisted gracefully aside, their cloak rippling through the air, their dagger shining in a blast of lightning as they brought it up to cleave through the shadow. With a burst of silver light, the first beast dissolved.

“Anyone else want some?” the stranger yelled, in a voice like distant thunder. The other two creatures didn’t hesitate. They moved so quickly that Logan could barely keep up — and within moments, the shadows had been cut to ribbons. The stranger straightened up, cricking their neck and shaking wisps of shadow off their dagger — and then they turned their attention on Logan.

Logan, who was quite sure that he’d lost his mind. He hissed a litany of swears as the stranger approached, pressing backwards against the headstone as pain bloomed through his lungs. He glanced wildly around the graveyard, but there was nothing in reach that he could use to fight back or escape.

“Woah, hey. Chill.” The stranger hesitated, noticing his fear, and held their hands up placatingly.”I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Wh-what — what __were__ those things?” Logan asked, voice pitched with panic. He twisted the wrong way and agony raced up and down his leg, making his vision blur. His stomach lurched.

“Those were shadow-beasts.” Cautiously, the stranger approached, hands still raised in a show of peace. “I can heal you, okay?”

__“How?”__ None of this made any sense, and Logan __really__ didn’t like not understanding. He tensed as the stranger kneeled beside him, catching a glimpse of the stranger’s eyes, hidden behind a curtain of black bangs. They were bright, glowing __purple.__ Completely unnatural. “Who are you? What is going on?”

“Healing magic, can’t tell you, and you’re in danger.” The stranger dug something out of a bag hanging by their side and snapped it over Logan’s chest without another word. Glowing violet liquid dripped from the broken container, and in the moment before it touched his chest, Logan wondered how in the name of Newton a __glowstick__ was going to solve his problems. But then it touched, and warmth raced through his chest, spreading throughout his body and bringing with it overwhelming relief. The liquid sank through his shirt and vanished.

“Okay,” he squeaked, experimentally bending his leg. No pain. He was at least 90% certain he’d lost his mind. __Questions now,__ he reminded himself, __freak out later.__ “Okay. P-Please explain to me what exactly is going on. How am I in danger?”

The stranger sat back, letting out a long breath. “I-I can’t explain much. You have to leave town. A man named Dorian is after you. If he finds out I’m here…” They shook their head, their eyes haunted. “He’s going to use you to get to Roman.”

Logan froze, his breath leaving him in one big rush. “Roman?” he whispered. “My Roman? Is he alive? Is he okay?”

The stranger swore under their breath. “Should’ve eased into that,” they muttered. Logan’s eyes narrowed and he slammed his hands on the wet ground insistently.

_ _“Is he alive?”_ _

“I —” A noise, somewhere off in the distance, made the stranger jump. Voices echoed through the graveyard. They stumbled to their feet. “Shit, I thought I’d have more time. You need to get out of this city. As far away as you can.”

“Wait!” Logan pushed himself up, desperation lodging in his chest. “Is Roman alive? __Tell me!”__

The stranger fixed him with one last apologetic glance — and then they disappeared in a flash of lightning, and Logan was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Logan hadn’t slept in a week.

The incident in the graveyard haunted him, chased him day and night, attacked him in his dreams and drove his sleep away. He couldn’t seem to distance himself from it like he distanced himself from everything else, try as he might. There were no scars, no marks, nothing to prove it had actually happened but a few nightmares and a shard of hope that refused to dislodge from his lungs. It was maddening.

Had it actually happened? At first, he’d searched with fervor for the stranger, for the shadows, for __something__ to prove that the incident had been real. He found nothing. Of course he found nothing — the incident made no logical sense. He was delusional, that was all. But still, the damned hope persisted. Could Roman be alive? The thought was far too good to be true, and not logical in the slightest. He had been dead for eleven months. Logan had seen the body. There was no possible way he was still alive.

And there was no way he’d been attacked by shadow creatures. There was no way his broken bones could be healed in mere seconds. There was no way __any__ of that could have happened.

There was no way Roman was coming back.

He had been grieving. The most logical explanation was that he had fallen asleep and dreamed it all. His grief constructed a nonsensical world in which Roman had survived, and in his turmoil, he clung to it, despite how unrealistic he knew it was.

But a logical explanation didn’t keep the nightmares away. It didn’t keep him from flinching at shadows, or searching every face for purple eyes and long, dark bangs. Why couldn’t he stop dwelling? Reason said Roman was dead and gone forever. Logic said he had only been dreaming. So why did his heart continue to insist he was still there?

He couldn’t __stop.__

He needed to stop.

It took a week of illogical behavior for him to finally make an appointment with his therapist. The post-Roman world he’d finally begun learning how to live in was falling apart, and he needed to rebuild his walls before everything crumbled around him. Dr. Picani had been with him since Roman had died, he’d know exactly what to do. And even if he didn’t… well, Logan needed to talk about this with someone.

He paced back and forth in front of Picani’s chair while he waited for the doctor to arrive, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. He’d been like this the whole week, overly tense and overly anxious, like a spring wound far too tight. He feared the moment he’d burst. The soft, warm colors of Picani’s office worked to soothe the awful thoughts cutting through his mind, but did nothing to lessen the <strike>hope</strike> fear he’d felt since the encounter.

He stiffened as the door creaked open behind him. “Logan! Do you how —” Picani hesitated, taking in Logan’s disheveled, tense figure. “Ah. Not doin’ too good, huh? Take a seat, Lo.”

“I-I am —” His voice cracked and he forcefully cleared his throat, adjusting his tie with a stiff jerk. Talking about his emotions was uncomfortable enough, he __refused__ to break down. “I am concerned that my grief is… resurfacing.”

Picani’s eyebrows furrowed. “How so?” he asked, pulling out his notepad and clicking open his pen. He never moved his gaze from Logan, his amber eyes shining with concern. The words Logan had planned died on his tongue.

He’d pictured this moment countless times since he’d schedule the appointment, planning every possible way to explain his nightmare without sounding like a complete and utter loon. But now, faced with Picani’s searchlight eyes — too much like a __friend’s, __too concerned, not uncaring enough to explain his problems without expecting pity in return — he found his voice had vanished.

Picani let out a soft sigh. “I won’t force it out of you if you’re not comfy sharing. However, I will say this: you’re allowed to still be grieving. It hasn’t even been a __year__, Logan. You gotta give yourself time to heal.” He bit his lip, and Logan could __feel__ the incoming cartoon reference. “You know how Pearl couldn’t move on and heal until she could talk about Rose? You can’t expect yourself to be able to heal until you’ve talked about Roman.”

Logan winced. Eleven months, and even the mention of his __name__ sent a pang through his chest. “I am aware of that. I just — I believed myself to be past the denial stage of grief. It is… frustrating.”

“Well, there is no one linear way to grieve. You can think you’re ahead for a while, and then something happens and you’re pushed right back to where you began. It can be frustrating, but you have to remember that grief is more of a cycle than a one-and-done plan.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with the end of his pen. “Did something happen, Logan?”

“I…” Logan sighed, shifting in his seat. “Yes. A-A nightmare, I think. I mean — there is nothing else it could have been. As you know, it was our… our anniversary, last week.”

“Yes,” Picani said, his voice soft.

“I visited the graveyard, to see him. I must have fallen asleep at some point, because…” And he went on, forcing the memory from his mouth. It seemed both more real and more imagined all at once, hanging in the air between them, both a memory and a dream.

“And he told me of some plot to… use me to get to Roman, implying that Roman is still alive. It is all highly nonsensical, of course, but I cannot seem to get it out of my head.”

“Ah…” Picani scribbled some quick notes, biting his lip in thought. “It gave you hope, even if it was unrealistic. It makes sense that you’ve subconsciously latched onto it, even though you know it can’t be real. You do know that, right?”

__“Of course I do,”__ Logan snapped sharply, running a hand through his hair. He bit back a sigh, his anger fading as quickly as it had appeared. “I just… I don’t want to focus on this anymore. I want to move on.”

“I know,” Picani said gently, “but moving on is a process. One that involves letting yourself __feel__ things, no matter how painful they may be. In order to —”

A distant crash cut him off before he could finish his thought. Sharing a look of confusion, Picani and Logan stood, looking to the door. Picani’s receptionist cried out in fright and Picani started forward, eyes wide, mouth open to call out to her — and before he could, a figure kicked down the door.

“What —” In a flash of blinding green light, Picani was thrown against the wall and held there by an unseen force, face frozen in surprise. Logan stumbled backwards, his back hitting the wall as he scrambled to get away from the stranger.

“Sorry, hun. You’re not who I’m after.” The stranger shrugged at Picani, blowing a big bubble-gum bubble and popping it with a sassy flourish. He turned his gaze on Logan, and his eyes, hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, seemed to smoulder with satisfaction. “I’m after a certain ratty-ass __thot__ named Anxiety. And a little birdy told me __you’ve__ seen him.”

Logan stammered, spluttering incoherently. A million implications hit him all at once, with roughly the force of several freight trains, and he nearly topped beneath the weight. The stranger before him was holding Picani to the wall with nothing — which implied magic, impossible magic, but magic nonetheless, like the kind the stranger had used the week before — which meant that the stranger __had__ existed, he hadn’t dreamt it, however illogical that was —

_ _Which meant that somewhere, somehow, Roman could still be alive._ _

“‘Fess up, babe, I don’t have all day.” From the pocket of his long, flowing leather jacket, the stranger produced a curved blade, the dark wooden hilt engraved with softly glowing symbols. Logan stiffened against the wall, his breath freezing in his lungs.

But through that fear rang one clarifying thought. __Roman could still be alive____, __his heart beat with every passing second, a mantra of hope that he didn’t dare block out. He drew himself to his full height, forcing as much confidence into his stance as one could when faced with a knife-carrying wizard.

“If I give you answers, you will have to give me some in return,” he demanded, pushing through even as his voice trembled. The stranger laughed, a high, barking noise.

“Gurl, you are a __riot!”__ he exclaimed, grinning widely. Logan noticed with a jolt of fear that his teeth were pointed, like fangs. “Trying to __bargain,__ how cute! Listen, hun, __I’ll__ show you a bargain. Tell me where that bitch is, and I won’t kill you. And don’t forget who holds the knife in this relationship.”

He twirled the dagger in his hand. Logan threw any plans of negotiating from his mind. “I don’t even know who you’re talking about,” he insisted. “Who is Anxiety?”

The stranger sighed, rolling his dark eyes. “Tall, dark, edgy, wears a patched cloak, __reeks__ with the scent of complete and utter betrayal? This ringing any bells, gurl?”

__Oh.__ The stranger at the graveyard? Logan hesitated, forcing any recognition from his face before the stranger could read it. The person at the graveyard — Anxiety, apparently — had saved his life. This knife-wielding madman had done nothing but magic his therapist to a wall and threaten him at knifepoint.

“I have no idea who that is,” Logan said evenly. The stranger heaved a heavy sigh, throwing his whole body into the action, and then stuck his knife beneath Logan’s chin in one swift movement, the cold blade nearly close enough to draw blood.

_ _“Try. Again.”_ _

“R-Right.” Logan gulped. “Maybe I do remember him.”

The stranger grinned, eyes lighting up. “There we go! Now, where the fuck is he?” He jutted his hip out to one side, popping another bubble-gum bubble as he waited for Logan’s answer.

“I don’t know,” Logan said, as evenly as he could manage with a knife waiting at his throat. “He left in a hurry, and I haven’t seen him since. I didn’t even know his __name __before now. I am not involved in this situation!”

“Oh, hun, you are.” The stranger sighed, drawing his knife from beneath Logan’s chin. Logan tried not to sag with relief. Tossing it from one hand to the other, the stranger fixed him with a strange expression. “For whatever reason, good ol’ Anxiety decided to pay you a visit. That’s big, babe, he __never__ visits people. That means he’s __interested__ in you.”

“But __why?”__ Logan asked. “Is it — is it because of Roman?”

__That__ got the stranger’s attention. He froze, the knife nearly tumbling from his hands. “Excuse me? You __don’t__ mean Roman Cygnus?”

The name sent memories flooding through his mind that he shoved away on instinct. “Yes. He’s — he was my husband. Anxiety mentioned something —”

“Holy shit.” The stranger stepped back. “You — he left us for __you?”__

“You knew him?” Logan’s fear vanished in an instant. He stepped forward. “What do you mean he left you? Is he alive? Where is he?”

The stranger held up his hands, eyebrows furrowed. All the sass had drained from his movements, leaving behind only languid confusion. He regarded Logan in a new light — studying him, almost. “Babe, __chill,__ I —”

“I have not been ‘chill’ since he died! If you have __any__ information, I implore you to give it to me. Then I can assist you in finding this Anxiety.” It was a bold-faced falsehood, he knew; he still had no idea where the cloaked stranger had gone, and even less of an idea of how to find him. Still, he’d managed to grab the reins of the confrontation, and a lead on Roman’s death. Truth no longer mattered.

Not when he could see Roman again.

The stranger spluttered, holding up his hands. “Listen, okay, I don’t —”

And the wall behind him burst into pieces.


	3. Chapter 3

Tendrils of bright blue light floated through the hole, lashing around the stranger and tightening around him like glowing snakes. He grimaced as they lifted him off his feet. Logan pressed himself back into the wall, and his breath left him in one big _whoosh_ as a figure stepped through the hole. Numb disbelief buzzed in his chest.

Chocolate brown hair, gently curled in that wonderfully soft way, and bright green eyes, crinkled at the edges — so familiar that Logan forgot how to breathe. The figure met his eyes and Logan nearly crumbled beneath his gaze — a gaze he __knew,__ knew better than he knew his own, a gaze he had married and loved and lost.

But it was wrong. Those familiar eyes were hidden behind round glasses, and they were rounder, more hazel than green. The hair was lighter, the face rounder. Still, Logan couldn’t find it in himself to speak; his voice far too gone in the face of this man, so __Roman__ but so __not.__

“Ooh, goody, the __cavalry.”__ The stranger rolled his eyes, barely even struggling against his glowing bonds. “Pat, hun, what can I do for ya?”

“Well,” not-Roman said, in a voice so gratingly __wrong__ that Logan nearly winced, “for one, you can let these poor mortals go.”

“Aww, girl, come __on,”__ the stranger groaned, dragging out his words in an overdramatic whine. “Where the fun in that?”

Not-Roman shot the stranger a glare that reminded Logan of a dad, just stern enough to be scary. The stranger huffed. “Fiiiine,” he drawled. “But I can’t exactly let ‘em go like this, y’know? I’m a bit __tied up__ at the moment.”

The corners of not-Roman’s mouth twitched. As a few giggles he couldn’t stifle slipped out, he snapped his fingers, and the ropes vanished into thin air. The stranger stumbled as he fell to the ground, a grin finding its way onto his face.

“‘Preciate it, Pat,” he said, cocking his head to the side as he regarded Picani. He was frozen in time against the wall, face caught in a comical expression of confusion and disbelief. With a snap of his fingers, the stranger sent Picani tumbling back to the ground.

“Wh —” Picani staggered into the stranger’s arms. “Who... ? What happened?”

“Aw, gurl, you __fell__ for me!” The stranger helped Picani find his footing, and they shared a moment’s look before he turned back to not-Roman, a cat-like gleam of mischief in his eyes. “I’d love to stay and chat, __really —”__

“Remy, don’t you dare!”

“But I’m afraid I’ve got shit to do, revenge to find, all that jazz. Buh-bye!”

Not-Roman jerked forward, the blue ropes flaring to life in his hands, but it was too late. The stranger, Remy, disappeared in a shower of green sparkles, his final cheshire-cat grin blazing in the air.

“Oh, the council’s gonna kill me,” not-Roman murmured, running a hand through his hair. Emile stared at the spot where Remy had been, a dusting of pink across his round cheeks.

“Wh… what in the name of Rose Quartz just happened?”

“I’m sorry,” not-Roman said. “Remy is… a bit of a wild card. I didn’t think he’d ever attack mortals, but…”

A million questions raced through Logan’s head and died on his tongue. Not-Roman fixed him with a concerned gaze and his chest __ached.__

“Are you okay, kiddo?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “We’re gonna get this all sorted out, okay? Don’t you worry.”

Picani stepped forward. “Excuse me, but what exactly __are__ we gonna get sorted out? What just happened?”

Not-Roman hesitated. “I… I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to __tell__ you. I’m just supposed to —”

“Wait, but you can’t just __not__ tell us!” Picani insisted. “You —”

Not-Roman squeaked and snapped his fingers, and a cloud of blue dust surrounded Picani’s head. He floated gently to the couch, fast asleep. Logan’s eyes widened.

“What did you do to him?”

“No, no, he’s okay! I just put him to sleep.” Not-Roman fidgeted with a clasp at his neck, holding a long gray cape around his shoulders. “When he wakes up, he won’t remember any of this. Now…” He went to snap his fingers again and panic bloomed in Logan’s throat. He couldn’t forget this, he __couldn’t.__

“What about Roman?”

The change was immediate. Not-Roman’s hand fell to his side, shock and confusion coloring his soft features, and his expression was so familiar that it was like a punch to Logan’s gut. “How do you know who Roman is?”

Logan closed his eyes, forcing out a shaking breath. The familiarity only made the differences more glaringly obvious, in the most painful way. Both men were bright, brighter than anyone else he’d ever seen, but Roman was shining __brilliance,__ a vivid display of colors and lights bright enough to fill a room. This man was a soft, gentle glow. He swallowed, pushing down the pain. This wasn’t Roman.

“He was my husband,” he said finally. Not-Roman’s eyes flew wide, his mouth falling open.

“You’re — you’re __Logan!”__ he cried, tears springing to his eyes immediately. “Oh my goodness gracious, you’re his __starlight____.”__

The familiar nickname sent shards of broken glass through Logan’s lungs. He pulled his tie back into place, if only to have something to do with his hands, and nodded. “Yes, I-I am,” he said, “and I’d like some answers. Who are you?”

“I’m Patton!” he said, offering a bright smile. “I’m Roman’s younger brother. I guess that makes me your brother-in-law, right?”

Time stuttered to a stop. Logan blinked — once, twice, again and again as if the action would make the world tilt back onto its axis. Roman had a brother — a brother that he hadn’t __once__ told Logan about. On top of that, every single magical being he had met thus far seemed to know Roman. How much had Roman kept hidden from him? How much didn’t he know?

He cleared his throat. This was no time to dwell or spiral; Patton was looking at him expectantly, waiting for a response. “I-I suppose so.” Patton exuded a sort of kindness that soothed Logan, deep down, and a part of him regretted asking the next question the moment it left his mouth. “Is Roman really dead?”

Patton seemed to crumple, his light dimming. “Yes,” he said softly. “He didn’t have his magic anymore, and he couldn’t have survived that crash without it. He’s — he’s gone.”

“So there __is__ magic,” Logan said, __refusing__ to focus on the rest of Patton’s sentence. “Is there any possibility that it could be used to bring him back?”

“Oh, honey…” Patton sighed, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Logan. Logan tensed at the sudden contact, swallowing hard, but he didn’t move away. “No amount of magic can bring back the dead.”

“Has anyone __tried?” __Logan had to know, he __had__ to. He refused to leave any possibilities untouched. “Given the proper resources, I’m sure I could —”

“No,” Patton said firmly. “It’s way too risky, kiddo. The dead have to stay dead, and we have to let them go and move on. I know it hurts, but —”

Logan jerked away, squaring his shoulders. “‘It’s too risky,’ implies that there are possibilities, but no one has explored them due to fear. I can, I don’t care about the risk —”

__“No.”__ Patton shook his head. “Roman would never let you risk your own safety on something like this, and neither will I. You have to find closure, kiddo. It’s the healthiest thing to do.”

Logan’s hands curled into tight fists. He focused on the sting of his fingernails digging into his palms to keep from breaking down, to keep the shattered glass in his chest from slicing through his lungs. “The man in the graveyard said — he said that someone is going to use me to get to Roman. That implies that Roman is still alive. We need to —”

He cut off, eyebrows furrowing. Patton had gone very, __very __pale. “Who?” he asked insistently. “Who did he say was going to use you?”

“I — someone with a name starting with d,” Logan said, straining to remember. “Daniel, or…”

“Dorian?” Patton breathed.

“Yes, that’s it.” Logan nodded. “He told me that Dorian is going to use me to get to Roman. Who is Dorian?”

“Someone who shouldn’t be alive,” Patton whispered. “We… we have to get to the bottom of this. We have to find out who told you that.”

“I didn’t see his face,” Logan said, dread and hope swirling together in his chest. Patton seemed dreadfully shaken at the mere mention of this Dorian, which did not bode well — but he hadn’t denied the chance of Roman being alive. “He was wearing a cloak. Remy said his name was Anxiety.”

“Well…” Patton let out a shaky breath. “I dunno who that is, but maybe the Council will. Logan, you need to come with me, okay? We have to keep you safe.”

The implication that he was in danger paled in comparison to the opportunity that had presented itself. Patton’s whole presence glowed with magic; certainly, wherever he’d come from held magic as well — magic Logan could learn, magic he could use to find Roman.

But something kept him from agreeing too quickly. There were far too many pesky emotions fluttering around in his chest. If he didn’t take a moment to organize, he’d surely fall apart, and that would be counterproductive.

“Would it be possible to have a moment to myself, first?” he asked, voice even. Patton blinked.

“Oh! Sure thing, kiddo. Lemme just…” Sticking out his tongue in concentration, Patton turned to the hole he’d blasted through the wall. Blue light jumped to life around his outstretched fingers, spreading outwards to surround the rubble scattered through Picani’s office. With a soft, melodic hum, Patton sent the debris tumbling back through the air, and when they slotted back into place it almost looked like the wall had never been broken at all.

“I’ll be out here when you’re ready!” he said, closing the door behind him. A heavy quiet fell over the room, sinking deep into Logan’s chest. He let out a breath.

What had he learned over the past few minutes? Magic was real — __magic,__ somehow, this thing existing beyond logic, or perhaps alongside it, a whole new world of possibilities to explore. There was someone after him, a man, or perhaps a beast, judging by Patton’s reaction. The man had nearly killed him once. The man was going to use him to get to Roman.

_ _Roman._ _

Logan sank down into Picani’s chair, heart thudding in his chest. There was a possibility — however faint, however uncertain — that Roman could be __alive.__ That all his grief, his anguish, his loss had been for nothing, that his broken would could right itself once more. Roman — who had a __brother,__ who had __magic,__ who apparently had very dangerous enemies.

How much else had Roman hidden from him? How much of Roman had Logan truly __known?__ And how dense was Logan, really, to never have realized that Roman was hiding such massive secrets? There must have been signs, somewhere, evidence to prove that all of this was real.

Did Roman not trust him? After everything they’d been through together, everything they’d faced — did he still not think Logan smart enough to handle the truth? Or, worse, was he trying to protect him?

Omitting information was a horrible way to protect someone. Roman’s secrets had caught up with them both, and Logan felt sure he would pay the price for his lack of knowledge. He had no way to catch his bearings in such a situation, so unfamiliar, so unnatural. He needed time — to think, to plan, to work the minutiae of the situation through his mind and come to a working solution.

If Anxiety’s warnings were anything to go by, he didn’t have __any__ time. The urgency in the stranger’s tone spoke volumes. Whoever Dorian was, he was going to act soon.

Which meant every moment was precious. Every second he let slip by, wallowing in these __feelings,__ was another moment that Dorian could use to gain the upper hand. He stood, smoothing down his shirt and yanking his tie back into place. There was no time to waste.

“Patton,” he said simply, stepping out into the waiting room. “I am ready to go.”

“Oh!” Patton straightened up, a bright smile popping into place on his face. He’d been tending to the receptionist — who was slumped in her desk chair, fast asleep, wisps of blue magic sorting through the mess Remy had left behind. “Alrighty! C’mon, teach. We’ve got a lot to figure out.”


	4. Chapter 4

_“What are you reading?”_

They stood before a nondescript little cafe, wedged into a street corner. The garden out from buzzed with bees and butterflies and friendly patrons, and the air buzzed with the scent of coffee and freshly-baked pastries. Logan’s breath hitched in his throat and he tugged at his tie, trying to choke the broken glass back to his chest where it belonged.

_ _He sighed, barely offering the stranger a glance. “I am doing my homework. Can I help you?”_ _

_ _The stranger dropped into the chair beside him, looking over Logan’s shoulder at his biology textbook. He couldn’t have been older than Logan himself — his deep brown face round and youthful and sprinkled with a constellation of freckles, his curly hair soft and resplendent beneath the afternoon sun. “You look interesting.”_ _

“This is it,” Patton said, setting his hands on his hips. His strange, fantastical outfit stuck out like a sore thumb, but no one paid him any mind, their gazes simply sliding over him like he didn’t exist. “The entrance to the magical world.”

Logan barely heard him.

_ _“I’m Roman!” the stranger said, in a voice like the sunrise, as he fixed Logan with his blinding green gaze. “Roman Cygnus.”_ _

_ _“Logan,” he said indifferently, ignoring the way the boy’s smile made his heart kick into overdrive. “Now, would you mind leaving me alone? I’m in the middle of something.”_ _

He didn’t leave Logan alone, not then, not ever. Logan didn’t mind nearly as much as he’d pretended to. Roman was the first to see him for __him__ and not look away. Even now, in death, he refused to leave Logan be — through memories, through dreams, he was always there, a reminder of what Logan once had.

A reminder of what he’d lost.

His vision tunneled. His hands tightened around his tie. He couldn’t push the memories away, try as he might, and just the hint of Roman’s voice threading through his thoughts sent ice through his veins.

“Logan?” He shook himself from his stupor to find Patton staring at him, eyes full of concern. Clarity broke through the fog in his mind and he shook his head, clasping his hands firmly behind his back to hide the way they shook.

“Apologies,” he said, evenly. “I am fine.”

Patton raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look fine, kiddo,” he said softly. “What’s going on?”

Ah. It seemed Patton had the same ability Roman had, to see right through his unaffected exterior into the less desirable mess within. How fun. “I —” Logan cleared his throat. “This is where we first met. Roman and I, I mean. I was simply… lost in memories. I apologize.”

“Oh.” Patton’s face softened further, if that was even possible. The man seemed to be made of softness. “He used to hang out here all the time,” he said, holding the clasp at his throat again. “He’d come home and tell the whole family about his adventures in your world. He loved it here.”

“Did he ever —” Logan’s voice caught and he stopped himself, staring resolutely at the ground.

“He did. All the time.” Patton smiled, and this time it reached his eyes, warm nostalgia swirling through the sadness in his gaze. “You were his greatest adventure of all.”

And __oh,__ if that didn’t take the broken glass and shatter it further, crush it into dust to crawl up his throat and choke him. He shook his head as Patton moved into the alley beside the cafe, forcing memories — a smile, a ring, a lilting voice; __“will you be my greatest adventure, stardust?”__ — away as he followed. It hit him, then, that Patton really __knew__ Roman, more than Logan had.

And that hurt, of course, but… it felt __nice,__ to talk to someone who knew what sort of light the world had lost. The cold in his lungs began to ebb away, and a hint of warmth took its place, almost burning it its newness.

“Stand back,” Patton said, his hands glowing again, casting warping shadows across the wall and bathing them both in stark blue light. He placed his palms against the dirty wall, and liquid gold spread from his touch, dripping down the wall, sliding in curves and swirls and beautiful arcs to form a twisting circle of symbols and runes. He drew his hands back and pushed into the center of the circle, and the wall fell inwards on itself in a swirl of drywall and wind, leaving a glowing entranceway burned into the bricks.

Logan gaped. For once, words failed him. In his shock, he hadn’t really considered how __exciting __this all was; a new __world, __with so many new things to be learned, so many new discoveries to be made. That familiar buzz of curiosity jumped to life within and he found himself smiling, eyes shining with possibilities.

Patton giggled. With a snap of his fingers, the residual magic dusted across his hands puffed out around them, and he gathered it into a soft, glowing ball by weaving his hands through the air. “Guess you found that pretty en-__light__-ening,” he joked, flicking the ball at Logan. It popped across his nose, showering him in sparkles.

He sneezed. “I am choosing to ignore that,” he said sharply, brushing a finger along his cheek. It came away covered in glitter, which glimmered for a moment before vanishing into thin air, leaving only warmth in its wake. Patton only laughed harder.

“Aw, c’mon, teach! I think I deserve a __Patton__ the back for that one!”

“Was — was that a self-referential pun?”

“Maybe.” Patton winked slyly and Logan’s eye twitched. “Okay! Let’s get goin’. I’ve gotta gather the Council before everyone leaves for the day.”

“The Council?” Logan asked, running his fingertip along the molten gold still dripping down the wall.

“Yeah! The Arcane Council,” Patton explained. “A group of representatives from each major magical community across America. They run our world, and handle relations with yours. I’m the leader of the New York branch!”

“Really?” They stepped through the gateway, and into a tiny little shop, sheltered under a bright fabric awning. It was mostly empty, save for a friendly-looking shopkeep who waved at Patton as they made their way through.

“Yep! I wasn’t supposed to be, though.” He shrugged, eyebrows furrowing just the slightest bit. “Roman was. But he gave up his title to be with you, so I had to take his place. It’s okay, though! I get to keep everyone in magical New York safe! I”m like — like New York’s dad.”

Logan frowned. “Why… why did Roman give up his title?”

“Well, there’s not that much magic in your world,” Patton explained. “Not enough for us to stay for long, at least. We need it to survive. By giving up his magic, Roman could stay in your world, with you, but he can’t exactly protect New York from there! So he gave up his title to me.”

“He… did that for me?” For all the time Logan had known him, Roman clung to the idea of magic, from fantasy novels to Disney movies and everything in between. He __loved__ it. Why would he give that up for a boring world, for a boring man?

“Well, yeah,” Patton said. “He loved you.”

Logan didn’t — __couldn’t__ — respond. His throat closed up, his voice dying before he could even formulate the words. He knew that. He __knew__ that. Why did it hurt so badly to hear?

Together, they stepped out of the shop, and out onto the street beyond — and the air was knocked from Logan’s lungs. His eyes widened, his mouth hanging open in awe. A city of stained glass glimmered back at him beneath a bright afternoon sun, iridescent, resplendent. Vaguely, he recognized the layout, knew it to be identical to the New York from his own world, but the beauty before him was impossible to reconcile with the busy, dirty city he knew. A small crowd milled about in the cobblestone streets, bathed in a kaleidoscope of colors reflecting off the buildings.

And above the buildings, blazing bright enough to be seen even in the afternoon sunlight, was a familiar constellation that sent a pang through his heart. __Cygnus.__ Around it glimmered others, fainter but still beautiful, stars and constellations that he didn’t recognize. The mere idea of a whole new cosmos to learn about filled his heart with wonder.

“This is… fascinating,” he breathed, eyes wide and filled with awe. “How is this even possible?”

“It’s another layer of reality,” Patton said. “Layered on top of yours, sorta? I’m not the best at explaining. When we’ve got everything sorted out, I can take you to Professor Ceres at the university! He studies the magical dimensions.”

“There’s a university?” Logan’s brain had shifted into overdrive, a million questions bursting like fireworks in his mind. “This — I — I want to learn __everything.”__

“Well, __someone’s__ enthusiastic!” Patton chuckled, patting Logan on the back. “Let’s just take things one step at a time, okay, kiddo? First things first, we’ve gotta find the council and figure this whole mess out.”

“Right. Yes. Of course.” Logan’s cheeks darkened and he cleared his throat. “Apologies.”

“It’s okay! I can’t imagine being in your shoes right now,” Patton said with an easygoing laugh. “This place really is something, huh?”

“Yes,” Logan said. He shook his head to clear away his questions, noting them away for later. Only one remained, a burning question that he couldn’t wait to ask. “May I ask you one thing, before we see the council?”

“‘Course, kiddo!”

“Who is Dorian?”

Patton’s whole demeanor shifted. All at once, he seemed smaller, hunching in on himself. His eyebrows furrowed. “Someone who I thought was dead,” he said quietly.

“Yes, so you’ve said. You… you seem so… frightened, of him,” Logan continued. A part of him felt bad for pressing Patton, but he needed answers. “Was he a bad person?”

“Well… yes,” he said, forcing the word out as if it hurt to say. “He wasn’t always, but… after Roman died, he hurt a lot of people. He tried to take my title, thought it was his ‘right.’”

“Why would he think that?”

Patton sighed. “Because it was,” he said, hugging himself. “Dorian was my brother.”


	5. Chapter 5

They stood at the end of a long, round table, with twelve others staring back at them with varying expressions of confusion. Each place at the table was marked with a gemstone-encrusted constellation, sparkling celestial approximations set deep into the wood. Patton sat before the constellation Cygnus, his hands folded in his lap. Logan didn’t dare sit.

“Patton, I hope you have a good reason for this,” said the man at the head of the table. His place was marked with the constellation Lyra. Concern lined his kind face. Patton nodded eagerly, hair flopping up and down.

“I do!” he said.

“You’d better,” said another man. He sat before the constellation Aquila, with one leg thrown casually over the arm of his chair. He was dressed in travelling clothes, a suitcase leaned up against his chair. “I’m gonna miss my train.”

“I know, Nate,” Patton said, with an apologetic grimace. “I wouldn’t bring you guys here unless it was super important —”

“And who’s that?” said the person sitting at Ursa Major, pointing at Logan. Tufts of dark hair stuck out from beneath a bright orange beanie, framing their round face. Patton smiled, a nervous hum building in the back of his throat.

“This is, uh, Logan!” He held his arms out wide, presenting Logan with a flourish. Logan inclined his head by way of greeting. “He’s, um. He’s mortal. He has some information —”

“Mortal?” the man at Lyra gasped. “Pat, you know you’re not allowed to bring mortals here!”

“I know, Thomas!” Patton said, a bit louder than he’d intended. He winced, running a hand through his hair. “Gosh, this isn’t going how I wanted it to go, uh — okay. Logan was attacked by shadow-beasts a couple days ago, and Remy attacked him and his therapist just earlier today.”

“How does that warrant bringing a mortal to our world?” Thomas asked. “I mean, obviously it’s awful that you were attacked, but — well, you shouldn’t be __here__ because of it.”

Logan watched Patton splutter, his eyebrows furrowing. His voice was drowned out by the others, and he was too nice to interrupt, far too nice for such a political role. He simply couldn’t break in.

But Logan wasn’t so nice. “I have information about Dorian,” he said sharply, loud enough that his voice echoed through the grand hall. The conversation jerked to a stop, and suddenly all eyes were back on him, twelve identical expressions of shock.

No, scratch that, thirteen. Patton blinked at him, eyes wide. He took a moment to recover, foot tapping nervously against the floor. “Not much,” he continued for Logan, “but enough to say that he’s still alive.”

“And Roman might be as well,” Logan said, standing as tall as he could. He did not enjoy being referred to only as a ‘mortal,’ as a problem rather than part of the solution. He was going to be a part of this, whether these high-and-mighty wizards liked it or not.

“There’s… there’s no way,” said a person sitting beside Thomas, their beautifully colored hair dimming to a soft blue. The gemstones marking their constellation — Draco, the dragon — shifted their color to match. “I saw him die, we all did.”

“C’mon, Talyn, we all knew Dorian. You couldn’t trust __anything __he did.” Nate shifted in his seat, throwing his other leg over the side. He had a very slow way of talking, a honeyed drawl. “Couldn’t even trust that asshole to die.”

“Shush, Nate,” Thomas said. “What information? Tell us everything, Logan.”

So he did. Starting with the graveyard and ending with Remy, Logan put every ounce of information he had on the table and could only hope to get some back in return. Out in the open air, it didn’t really seem like that much — but he couldn’t lose his nerve now. It __had__ to be enough.

“That’s… not much to go on,” said the woman sitting at Andromeda.

“But it implies Dorian is still alive,” Patton said, standing. “And if he is…”

He trailed off. Logan hadn’t been able to get many specifics from Patton on what Dorian had done, but… obviously, it hadn’t been good. Silence fell across the table, each wizard lost in thought.

“If he is, we’re in deep shit,” someone finally said, a man sitting at the constellation Perseus. He wore a clashing kaleidoscope of magenta and black that gave Logan a headache just to look at. His statement earned several annoyed noises and a whack on the arm. “What? It’s what we’re all thinking!”

“Not all of us think as crudely as you, Henry,” said a man dressed all in black, his seat marked with the constellation Corvus.

“I do,” the person in the beanie said, raising a hand.

“We know, Joan.”

The woman at Andromeda held up her hands, glaring at her counterparts. “We don’t have time for this,” she said. “If Dorian really is out there, we have to find him. __Now.”__

“Valerie’s right,” Thomas said. “We barely beat him last time, and the damage he caused… We can’t let that happen again. We need to get the upper hand. Logan, do you have anything else?”

“No,” he said, wishing he did. “What about Roman? Anxiety said that Dorian was going to use me to get to him. That implies that __he__ is still alive as well.”

“That doesn’t make sense either,” Valerie said. “We investigated his death. Everything checked out, it was just… a normal, mortal death. He didn’t survive.”

Logan gripped the back of Patton’s chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Nate continued where Valerie left off. “Why would Dorian use __you__, anyway?”

“Oh, shoot! I forgot to mention,” Patton said quickly, shooting Logan an apologetic glance. “Logan is —”

“Roman was my husband,” Logan said, voice stronger than he’d expected. A hush fell over the room, quieter, sadder than before. Everyone’s gaze turned horribly sympathetic, and Logan burned beneath their searching eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Thomas said. “I can see why you’re so invested in this.”

Logan stood up straighter. “If there is any chance to get Roman back, however infinitesimal, I will take it. If Dorian has him, I will do whatever I can to assist you in defeating him.”

The members of the council shared a look. “We… we can’t let you do that,” said the man sitting at the constellation Delphinus. He was dressed like a ray of sunshine, shimmering golden fabrics from head to toe. “It’s far too dangerous.”

The darkly-dressed man at Corvus nodded, his face shadowed and dark. “We have to wipe your memory and send you home,” he said, and Logan jerked back as though he’d been slapped. “If we find anything, we’ll —”

__“No,”__ Logan said, so firmly that Corvus’ mouth snapped shut. “You will do no such thing. If Dorian is planning on using me to get to Roman, my life is in danger. Wiping my memory will leave me back at square one and give __him__ an opportunity to strike. He has already found me once. Don’t play into his hands.”

More silence. Another shared look. “He has a point,” Joan said, raising an eyebrow at Logan. “Dorian obviously knows how to find him. Letting him go probably isn’t the best idea.”

Nate groaned, drawing out the noise as he stretched lazily in his seat. “Stop using logic against us, you assholes.”

“But that’s what I’m best at,” Logan and Joan said in unison. Joan grinned at him, and Logan found himself smiling back. They seemed to be a kindred spirit; Logan liked them.

“Great, he stays!” said the person sitting at the constellation Dorado, their silver hair falling in their face. “That doesn’t solve our Dorian problem.”

“I have a lead,” said the man sitting at Corvus, leaning back in his chair. He let a moment pass, anticipation building, and then he leaned forward, relishing in the tension he caused. He quirked a brow. “A lead on Roman’s secret weapon.”

It was like he said he’d found Atlantis. The table erupted in cries of shock, confusion, and excitement, and it was a good five minutes before they’d calmed down enough to speak. Logan’s eyebrows furrowed. His __secret weapon?__ Why did that sound so… familiar?

“Toby! How long have you had this?” Henry asked. “Why didn’t you __tell __us?”

“Calm down, H.P. I’ve only had it for a few days. I was planning to go check the credulity before this whole mess blew up.”

Logan took a step back, lost in thought, the conversation fading around him. He’d heard of this before. Something was tugging at the corner of his mind, a memory he’d forgotten, something dark and hazy and almost gone. He closed his eyes and pulled at the memory. His secret weapon…

“... Is in the dragon’s keep,” he finished out loud, his voice barely above a whisper. The memory snapped back into focus and he cursed himself for having forgotten it in the first place. A rushed conversation, late at night, one Logan had only half heard and then lost to the throes of sleep. Roman had been panicked, tense, as though he was delivering the most important information in the world.

Maybe he had been.

“What?” Toby asked.

“The secret weapon is in the dragon’s keep,” he said again, louder, stronger. Toby’s eyes widened.

“How the hell did you know that?”

“Roman told me,” Logan said, eyes wide, heart pounding. “He told me. It’s in the dragon’s keep, isn’t it?”

“Bullshit,” Nate drawled. “Princey never told anyone about his secret weapon. It’s a wonder we even know it exists.”

“He… he never even told me,” Patton said softly. He blinked, shaking his head. “But this can’t be a coincidence. If Logan’s memory matches Toby’s lead…”

“It does,” Toby said, eyes narrowed. “My lead pinpoints the weapon in a dragon’s keep at Sleepy Hollow. Patton’s right, that can’t be a coincidence. I found it.”

“That changes things,” Talyn said, their eyes sparkling. “We can beat Dorian with that. We just have to get it.”

“Right. I’ll put together a team and we can go —”

“No,” Toby cut Thomas off. “I work alone.”

“Not this time,” Logan said sharply, stepping forward. “I am coming with you.”

“Me too,” Patton said. “I have to be there. Roman was my brother.”

“And my husband. You are not leaving me behind.” He stood as tall as he could, looking down at Toby, whose face was growing steadily darker.

“I am not taking a mortal to a dragon’s keep,” he growled, eyes narrowed behind a curtain of brown hair. “You stay.”

“Actually, I think he should go,” Joan said. “If Roman trusted him enough to tell him where the weapon is, who knows what else he told him? Maybe he’ll come in handy.”

“I think so too,” Thomas said, offering Logan a smile. “Besides, I’m not gonna let you go alone. With Dorian out there again… we’ve gotta be careful.”

Toby growled and shoved himself to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Fine,” he snapped. “We leave at —”

And the hall began to shake. Logan yelped and grabbed the back of Patton’s chair as the ground rumbled beneath him, nearly sending him tumbling to the floor — yellow smoke began to seep from beneath the closed doors and in through the high windows, coalescing, gathering into a shape vaguely like a person, undulating and horrible —

And then the figure had a face, snake-slit eyes and a smile like venom. He fixed his horrible gaze on Logan and he knew, __knew__ beyond a shadow of a doubt, who he was looking at. __Dorian.__

“You’re so right, Thomas,” Dorian purred, in a voice like Roman’s doused in burning poison. “You must be __careful.”__


	6. Chapter 6

Toby was on his feet in an instant, crisp orange magic jumping to life around his hands, and he leaped at Dorian without a second thought, swinging a fist through the air — and through Dorian, who didn’t even move, a placid smile on his face. Toby stumbled right through him, scattering the smoke, which re-gathered into an almost-person a split-second later.

“Tsk, tsk,” Dorian tutted, shaking his head. “One would think a __powerful__ mage such as yourself would be able to tell the difference between a messaging charm and reality. How pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” Toby repeated, his voice a deep, furious growl. “You’re too cowardly to even show up here in person. What, are you scared?”

“Oh, did you want me to come in person? I had no idea! I can come, if you’d like,” Dorian said, his voice sickeningly-sweet and dripping with sarcasm.

“Toby, stand down,” Thomas said, and somehow his voice was steady, even as the blood drained from his face.

“Yes, do. I wasn’t planning on coming anyway, I am a bit busy at the moment. Planning a trip and all. Sleepy Hollow, did you say?” Dorian curled a hand behind his ear, smug victory settling on his scaly face. Cold horror settled over every occupant of the room, and Logan’s hands curled into fists. “How interesting. It’s always the last place you look!”

And he cackled at his own joke, his laughter cold and unhinged. Thomas stood, facing him bravely. “You’re not getting the weapon,” he said, as boldly as he dared. “We’ll stop you.”

__“Bold__ claim, Thomas. And impossible goal. __And__ cool costume. What are you supposed to be, a competent mage?” Dorian smirked. “You __almost__ fit the role.”

“He fits the role just fine!” Patton burst out. “You have no room to judge him, mister!”

“Ah, my dear brother!” Dorian grinned. “Still keeping up the act? How quaint.”

Patton paled, hurt flashing through his eyes. He was quick to shove it away, but though his mouth moved, he couldn’t seem to voice a retort. Logan stepped up to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder, cold fury seeping deep into his bones as he regarded the man who stole his life from him.

Dorian’s poisonous gaze slid to him, and his grin only widened. “And you must be __Logan!”__ he said, clapping his hands together once. “Oh, I’ve heard __so much__ about you. Roman says hello, by the way.”

Logan’s cold fury burst into flames. __“Where is he?”__ he demanded, slamming his hands on the table.

“Where is who?”

Logan growled. “Wherever you’ve hidden him, I __will__ find him,” he said, voice firm and furious. “And I will ensure that you are stopped. For __good.__ You will not win.”

Dorian cackled again, wiping fake tears of mirth from his eyes. “Oh, Roman was right! You are a __riot.__ You’re out of your depth, Logan. You have no __idea__ who I am.”

“You are a bully. You are a coward. You are nothing,” Logan said, drawing himself up to his full height, “nothing I have not faced before. You don’t scare me in the slightest.”

Which was only partially true. The mere sight of Dorian, scales and fangs and venomous gaze, made his chest constrict; and the thought of what this unhinged beast had done to Roman sent cold fear sinking into his bones. But he knew cruelty. He knew fear. And he knew he wasn’t going to let this madman take away his husband ever again.

Dorian placed a hand over his heart in faux shock. “My, my, how brave! Tell me, Logan, will you still be this… unafraid, when I get the weapon?”

“You won’t,” Toby growled.

Dorian chuckled. “We’ll see,” he said. “May the best man win, as they say.”

And with a deep, mocking bow, the smoke that made up his form burst outward, and dissipated into the air. A deep, heavy, painful silence fell over the hall, as each mage fell back into their seats, their faces pale and lined with shock.

“That confirms it,” Valerie said, her voice faint. “He’s back.”

Nate let out a long, slow, shaking breath. “And we are in deep, deep shit.”


	7. Chapter 7

“I can’t believe you actually stood up to him.”

After Dorian disappeared, Thomas sent Logan home with Patton, bidding them farewell and wishing them a good night’s sleep before their journey to Sleepy Hollow. Logan wanted nothing more than to leave right away, to ensure that Dorian had no chance of getting there before them, but Toby needed to gather supplies for the trip.

So there they were; sitting in the living room of Patton’s big, empty house. It had once been his parents’, and the cold, lonely rooms had once been filled with __family,__ brothers and cousins and aunts and uncles, warmth beyond compare. Patton seemed impossibly small in comparison. He didn’t belong in such a big, cold place.

“You did too,” Logan pointed out, sitting stiffly on the end of Patton’s couch. His whole body buzzed with nervous energy, a never-ending mantra of __do something do something do __**_**_something_**_** rushing through his mind. He __hated__ being held back when there were answers at his fingertips, waiting just out of reach.

Patton laughed. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, with a nonchalant shrug. “Not as much as you, though! You were __amazing.”__

Logan’s cheeks colored. He looked away, raising an eyebrow. “He’s a bully,” he stated. “I have faced countless bullies. He’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“He’s… a bit more than just that,” Patton said slowly, carefully. “It’s easy for you to not be afraid. You don’t know what he’s done.”

“What __did__ he do, Patton?” Logan asked, turning to meet Patton’s gaze. “I have gotten nothing but vague answers since I got here. I should know what we’re up against.”

Patton bit his lip. He twisted his hands in his lap. Nervousness radiated off of him in waves, and for a moment his expression turned sour, pained. He blinked it away and shook his head, offering Logan a shaky smile. “You deserve to know,” he said. “It’s just… it’s complicated.”

“I have dealt with many complicated issues before,” Logan said. “I can handle it. Please, Patton.”

“I know. I —” Patton ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. When Roman died — or, uh. When he disappeared? When Roman was gone, Dorian should have gotten the seat on the council. He was the next in line, y’know? But… none of the members at the time really trusted him. He wasn’t a __bad__ person, back then, he was just… he had ideas, on how the world should be run. And his ideas weren’t always the nicest.”

“The council decided that they’d take a couple weeks to… figure out what to do. Dorian became furious, and he vanished. I — we all thought he was… gone. Like — like Roman.” Pain flashed across Patton’s face, and Logan placed a hand on his shoulder, gentle but firm. Patton nodded, lips pressing into something that could have been a smile. “But then he showed up again right when the council made the decision to appoint me instead.”

“When he found out, he — he attacked. With everything he had. We… lost a lot of mages that day.” Patton sighed. “The thing is, Dorian shouldn’t have been able to survive that. Magic is… strange. We need it to live, but if we use too much, our bodies sorta just shut down. And Dorian used so much that day, he should have been vaporized on the spot. That’s what we all thought happened, at least.”

“But somehow, he survived,” Logan said, eyebrows furrowed. “Are there any spells that could increase one’s ability to withstand a magical overload?”

“Not really,” Patton said with a shrug. “I mean, there’s old stories, but they’re just myths. None of them make sense, yknow? Toby even thought for a bit that Dorian had been possessed by an old god or something, but that’s impossible. Those legends… they don’t fit at all with what we know about magic, about how it works.”

“What do you know about magic?” Logan asked, itching for a notepad. There were too many thoughts flying around in his brain, leads and questions tangling together. Patton chuckled.

“Personally, not much,” he admitted. “Like I said, I wasn’t supposed to be on the council, so I didn’t have to go through the extensive classes that Roman did. I — I __was__ gonna be a baker, before everything happened. And I’m not good with words, I dunno if you’d even understand the stuff I do know. You need a __master.”__

“You mentioned a university earlier,” Logan said. “A… Professor Ceres. How soon can I talk to them?”

Patton stuck his tongue out in thought. “Well, tomorrow we’ve gotta go with Toby to find the weapon, and then after that… after that, I can take you. Probably a few days from now.”

“Ah.” Logan tried not to be too disappointed. Patton’s answer was, essentially, exactly what he’d expected. Still, he longed for __answers __to the countless questions bouncing around in his head. A few days was, admittedly, not that long, but who knew how many more questions he could come up with in that time?

Patton noticed his disappointment, and offered a sympathetic smile. “Hey, c’mon now, teach, it’s not that long! I promise I’ll take you as soon as I can. We just have to get the whole… Dorian situation under control first.” He stood, yawning. “Speaking of which, we should get some sleep before tomorrow. Do you need anything else, or can I…?”

Logan blinked, coming up from his sea of thoughts. “Oh. No, no, go ahead. Sleep well, Patton.” He shook his head to clear his errant mind, and offered what he hoped was an acceptable smile. Patton grinned right back, leaned forward to squeeze him in a split-second hug, and then bounded up the stairs.

Logan blinked — once, twice, three times, his thoughts slamming to a screeching halt. His skin burned where Patton had hugged him, a sharp ache sinking deep into his bones. He let out a soft breath, closing his eyes to center himself. He knew he’d isolated himself quite terribly in the aftermath of Roman’s disappearance, but… he hadn’t realized just how badly touch-starved he’d become…

No. No, that didn’t matter. There were answers to be found. There was no time in the plan he’d begun to formulate to dwell on problems he couldn’t hope to solve just yet. He needed to find Roman. Then… then he could focus on what came next.

And the first step to finding Roman was getting an adequate amount of sleep.

With another deep, centering breath, he opened his eyes and stood. Without Patton there, the house seemed even emptier, even colder, and the loneliness the empty halls exuded seemed to sink straight into his lungs, freezing his breath in his chest. He glanced around the dark living room, gaze lingering on the shadows for just a moment longer than he’d ever admit.

The second floor of the house wasn’t much better, but he could see hints of light from beneath Patton’s door, a sign of life that the cold husk below sorely lacked. He stepped gently past Patton’s door in search of the guest room he’d been shown to earlier.

There were four doors in the hallway. The first was Patton’s — though, according to the tour he’d been given earlier, the master suite was on the third floor. Patton, it seemed, had never moved out of his old bedroom.

Logan peeked into the next room over, and a chill went down his spine. The room was completely devoid of everything; just… empty, bare walls and bare floors, with dark, fluttering curtains drawn over the tall windows.

He didn’t look in that room for long. There was a bad feeling in the air.

He opened the door to the third room, on the other side of the hall, and his heart leapt into his throat and choked him. It was painted in shades of scarlet and gold. His breath caught on the shattered glass in his chest as he stepped inside, vaguely aware that he wasn’t supposed to explore and overwhelmingly aware that he didn’t care. All at once, the loneliness seemed to lessen, but it still pressed down hard on his lungs, seeping deep into his bones.

This was Roman’s room.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and a soft silence draped over him. He wrapped his arms around himself, letting out a long, shaking breath that quickly dissolved into a wet laugh. The room was so __Roman__ that his heart almost snapped right in two, crushed under the weight of how much he __missed__ him.

He flicked the light switch, and the fairy lights draped from the ceiling in wide loops and arcs flickered to life, spilling twinkling light across the room. It had been dusted, at the very least, but otherwise it sat untouched, still glowing with the energy Roman seemed to exude. The bed was haphazardly made, and decorative pillows had been left scattered across it, among a sea of stuffed animals. The dresser housed a veritable labyrinth of __stuff,__ makeup and books and papers and pictures and everything in between. Long, golden curtains fluttered around the tall windows, illuminated in moonlight.

He stepped up to the vanity, peering through the hazy light at the polaroid pictures taped around the mirror. His vision began to blur, hot tears pooling in his eyes as he realized exactly which pictures they were. With a shaking hand, he gently peeled one off. He could barely breathe.

Roman was grinning, his face alight with joy, his arm looped tightly around Logan’s shoulders. Logan wasn’t quite facing the camera, his eyes wide with shock, the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks. Rain poured around them, blurring the picture, and Logan’s wet binder was coated with sand.

Logan sank down into the vanity chair, a trembling smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He remembered that day — his disappointment when it started to rain, and the little glow of elation in his chest when Roman only giggled and dragged him out into it to dance in the puddles across the beach and splash through the storm-torn ocean with abandon.

He remembered taking the picture, soaking wet and coated with sand, his breath heavy in his chest after dozens of dances. He remembered Roman’s arm around his shoulders and his bright grin and remembered how they’d flopped down onto the sand the moment after, their hands laced together.

He closed his eyes, forcing the stinging tears away. He was close to finding Roman again; there was no logical reason to cry. Still, a sob built in his lungs and broke away, and he held the picture to his chest as if it could hold him together, trembling.

He didn’t move for quite some time. When he did, it was only to stumble over to Roman’s bed and fall, not thinking beyond his pain, still holding the picture like a lifeline. He curled into Roman’s pillow, a heartbroken noise building in the back of his throat as his familiar smell washed over him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that Roman was lying beside him, that he’d wrap his arms around him and hold him tightly through the night, that he’d wake Logan from this nightmare he’d found himself in.

And when he opened them and found himself alone, it hurt more than he could bear.

So he kept them closed and tugged the scarlet blanket up around himself, breathing in as much of the scent as he could. He pretended he could still feel Roman's warmth around him; that the bed wasn’t cold and empty, that he wasn’t alone.

And as he fell asleep, he almost believed it.


	8. Chapter 8

Toby arrived before the sun did the next morning. His long, dark cloak rippled in the cold wind, revealing the autumn-colored suit underneath, shades of orange and red and black giving him the overall appearance of a pile of leaves. He had two heavy bags, one of which he shoved into Patton’s arms by way of greeting.

He nodded sharply at Logan, and took a long, tired sip of the orange drink in his hand. Logan caught a whiff of pumpkin spice. “Here,” he said a moment later, pulling __something__ from his bag and shoving it into Logan’s hands.

Logan just barely caught it, and struggled to find a way to hold the awkward device. It was a long, brass staff, with rings of metal spread out from the center, laden with strangely-colored crystals. It buzzed in his hands. “What is this?” he asked, turning it over.

“A shield generator,” Toby said shortly. “Anything happens to us, you twist that dial in the center. It’ll keep you safe.”

“Ah.” Logan peered at it, curiosity sparking to life. “How does it work? What is the shield made out of? Does it —”

Toby shot him a look. “Does it matter?”

Logan closed his mouth. Several retorts died on his tongue. “I-I suppose not.”

Patton clapped him on the back, pushing through the awkwardness with a stubborn, cheerful grin. “Where are we headed, Tobe?” he asked, looping his arm around Toby’s shoulders.

Toby grumbled, but didn’t shove him away. “Sleepy Hollow,” he said. “There’s a dragon’s keep somewhere in there, nearby towns keep complaining about it. She keeps attacking anyone who gets too far into the forest. And my scouts reported __extreme__ amounts of magic. She’s guarding something.”

“Roman’s secret weapon,” Patton agreed. “It has to be. But Sleepy Hollow isn’t exactly hidden? If she’s had it this whole time, we would have noticed, and if she wasn’t there the whole time, why move now?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Toby said, crossing his arms. “According to my sources, she only moved in there about six days ago.”

“That’s the same day I was attacked,” Logan said, falling into step beside them. “What is Roman’s secret weapon, anyway?”

“No one knows,” Patton said, wiggling his fingers with a half-joking air of mystery. “He never told anyone that much about it, not even me! All we know is that it’s __super__ powerful.”

“I’d wager it’s some kind of magical storehouse,” Toby said, chugging down the last of his coffee and tossing it over his shoulder. It landed perfectly in a trash can. “He was either storing energy, or planning on using it to __steal__ energy. Either way could stop Dorian in an instant.”

“Then why would he hide it?” Logan asked. “One would think he’d want to keep it nearby, in case of emergencies. Furthermore, why give it to a dragon? Is there some significance to that?”

“Well, he didn’t exactly hide it,” Patton said. “When he was alive, he did keep it nearby, but when he… disappeared, it did too. He was the only one who knew how to use it, anyway, so it wouldn’t have helped at all, but…”

“There’s a lot of unanswered questions,” Toby finished for him. “Princey always was one for __dramatics__. I wouldn’t put it past him to set up a stupid mystery like this just for the fun of it.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Logan said, but even he wasn’t so certain. Roman’s theatricality had known no bounds. Still, it didn’t feel like __Roman__ to create a mystery without a solution, and this mystery made no sense. Why wouldn’t he at least tell __someone__ how to use his weapon? Why would he hide it, if he knew how important it was?

Logan lapsed into silence, eyebrows furrowing as his brain took the situation and turned it over again and again, jumping down rabbit holes of loose ends and erroneous details. Roman told him about the secret weapon, or at least where it was, so he must have trusted Logan to figure it out. But that would imply that he knew Logan would find himself tied up in all this, which implied that he knew about the events to come, which implied that maybe, maybe he knew he was going to die.

But he __faked __his death. His actions suggested that he had some knowledge of events to come — but if that was the case, he must have seen faking his death as the only solution. What else did he know? What did he find so inescapable that he left Logan because of it?

He didn’t notice the others had stopped until he bumped into Patton, and fell from his tangled thoughts back into the real world. “What are we doing?” he asked.

“Teleporting,” Toby said, annoyed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He stood in the center of a circle, carved deep into the pavement, with a handful of crystalline marbles in one hand.

Where Toby’s explanation lacked, Patton’s more than made up for it. “We’ve got different teleportation circles for different towns and cities to speed up transportation,” he said, giggling as he tried to balance atop one raised rune. “Like… what do you mortals call them? The cool underground train thingies?”

“Subways?”

“Yeah! They’re like subway stations.” Patton’s arms windmilled wildly as he struggled to balance, nearly whacking Toby in the face. “You board a ‘subway’ at one circle, and it takes you to another.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, studying the circle. He could see a few others down the road, some with people crowded around them, but this one was different, older. Weeds sprouted from the cracks between the runes, and garbage had been shoved into the corners of the station, as though no one cared to clean it.

“Get in,” Toby said, spinning the marbles in his hand. His eyes had begun to glow a deep, autumn orange. “Take these. When I say so, smash them down on the ground and brace yourself.”

“For what?” Logan asked, taking two marbles and peering at them. He got motion sick on the slowest, tamest things; ‘brace yourself’ was never a good thing to hear. But Toby didn’t answer. He slammed one foot into the ground, taking a powerful stance, like he was preparing to tackle them both to the ground. The wind picked up, swirling around them, and Logan’s skin prickled at the smell of rain and overgrown leaves.

Patton whooped, eyes squeezed shut as the wind whipped his hair around. Toby whispered something, spun the marbles once more — and gave the signal. They threw their marbles onto the ground and they exploded in a puff of iridescent dust.

And then all hell broke loose.

Logan’s feet were ripped off the ground and he was sent tumbling through open air, colors and noises whirling past him so quickly that he couldn’t make sense of anything. His stomach leapt into his throat and tried to escape through his mouth — a scream tore from his lips — he didn’t know what was up, what was down —

And then he was deposited roughly on cold, hard ground.

“Nice job,” Toby said, landing gently on his feet with a practiced ease. “You totally stuck that landing.”

“You okay, Lo?” Patton asked, sprawled out on the ground beside him, though judging by the breathless excitement in his tone and the giggles spouting from his mouth, he’d chosen to fall. Logan groaned into the dirt, refusing to lift his head. The world still hadn’t stopped spinning.

He tried to move, and — nope, no, that wasn’t happening. His stomach hadn’t found its way out of his mouth yet. He squeezed his eyes shut as colors burst before them like flashbulbs, and tried to judge where they’d landed on smell and touch alone.

The air was heavy with the scent of distant rain and a thick, earthy smell. The dirt beneath him was soft and wet, and long, overgrown grass tickled at his skin. A forest, maybe? Or a field? Definitely not a city; the air was far too natural, too crisp and clean. He sucked in a deep breath of it and shoved himself to his feet, swaying dizzily.

“That was…” He trailed off, eyebrows furrowing. Technically, he hadn’t been wrong. It __was__ a forest — but it was also a city, a maze of old buildings, crumbled and broken and buried in an overwhelming onslaught of nature. Trees burst through shattered windows and open doorways, and vines bent buildings in two, winding through the concrete like snakes. Ivy crawled across every open surface, staining the world green. Brightly-colored mushrooms popped up in every open patch of grass.

His world’s Sleepy Hollow had always been a natural town, sure, but this… it was like the forest had risen up and fought to reclaim the land. “What… what happened here?” he asked, eyes wide.

“This used to be the home of a bunch of dryads,” Toby said, noticing Logan’s expression. “They lived alongside the humans here. Then Dorian tried to infiltrate the town, use it as a base of operations or something, and, well… Dryads don’t like to share.”

“They took it as a betrayal on behalf of all humans when Dorian tried to take over,” Patton continued. “What little peace there was between the townspeople and the dryads disappeared. They retook their natural forms and fought to take back the land they’d gifted the humans, and —” Patton gestured at the former town.

A menacing smirk grew on Toby’s face. “And now, the spirits of all the dryads killed in the battle still wander the forest, searching for young mortals to __kill —”__

Patton promptly whacked Toby on the back of the head. “Shush, Tobe. Logan’s already been through enough of an emotional rollercoaster lately — or should I say, a roller-__ghost-__er?”

Logan blinked. “That…” He pressed his lips into a firm line to keep from screaming, letting out a long breath. “That was terrible.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo, I just couldn’t help myself!” Patton shrugged, a gleam in his eyes. “You know what they say about lifting people’s __spirits:__ anything __ghost!”__

… Logan began to wonder if answers were worth dealing with this.

“I don’t appreciate you taking my spook and turning it into stupid puns,” Toby grumbled. “I mean, it’s almost time for that spooky mortal holiday, right? The candy one? I’m just going with the spirit of the season.”

“The __spirit__ of the season?” Patton suggested, with the exact chaotic energy of an owo.

“Do… do you mean Halloween?” Logan asked, voice tense, as the urge to scream grew. He no longer had any doubts that Roman and Patton were related; being infuriating must run in the family. “It’s June. Halloween isn’t until October.”

“Close enough,” Toby said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Besides, I wasn’t lying. This place __is__ haunted.”

“Uh-huh,” Logan deadpanned. “Toby, there is a time in every man’s life where he must draw a line. I have tolerated magic, and dragons, and shadow-beasts, and all manner of ridiculous, illogical things. I draw the line at ghosts. They do not exist.”

“Suit yourself,” Toby said, his shrug far too casual to be anything but devious. “Just don’t come crying to me when a dryad-ghost curses you into a dandelion for the rest of your life.”

“That can’t happen,” Patton said, the corners of his mouth twitching with laughter. The three started towards the forest-city, and Logan just barely caught what Patton murmured next, his voice confused enough that he couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “Can it?”


	9. Chapter 9

Once again, Logan found himself battling his old friend insomnia for a good night’s rest.

They trekked through the city for quite some time, but it seemed determined to keep them away from the dragon. It looped in on itself, twisting around and around and around until no one had any idea where they were anymore. The uneven terrain made every step exhausting. Logan didn’t really consider himself a city person, but he’d take the loud bustle of the city over this bug-infested nightmare any day.

Patton made them stop to set up camp the moment the sun began to set. Toby cooked dinner with a wave of his hand as Patton set up the beds with a snap of his fingers, and Logan stood off to the side, holding his shield generator in white-knuckled hands. He hated feeling useless.

But as sunset dissolved into evening and Toby and Patton dissolved into sleep, Logan found himself still wide-awake, staring at a sky he didn’t recognize with a feeling he couldn’t place nagging in the pit of his stomach. Too much had happened in too little time; his mind felt ready to burst.

Time crawled slowly on, and still, he stayed awake. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to sleep — though he didn’t, really, because sleep meant dreams and dreams meant __Roman,__ vanishing as quickly as he appeared and leaving Logan to piece reality back together again and again. He’d already mistaken Patton for Roman once in his sleep-fogged state; he didn’t want a repeat of that morning.

Around him, the forest buzzed with life, bugs he didn’t know and strange creatures he didn’t recognize, and really, could the situation be any crueler? He prided himself on always knowing what was happening, always having the answers. To shove him into a world where he knew __nothing,__ where he was forced to rely on others, constantly? Where he had no use, no purpose, now that they knew all the information he had? Where, if they decided that he was too much dead weight and they didn’t need him, they could leave him to die, trapped in a world where nothing made sense?

Dimly, he realized he’d begun to hyperventilate in his panic. He threw off his blanket and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to focus only on the sting of fresh, rain-cooled air on his skin. When the panic had receded to its usual level, he sat up, pushing himself to breathe as evenly as he could.

Before he could stop himself, he stood, careful not to wake Patton or Toby. He scooped the shield generator from its spot beside his makeshift bed and slipped into the shadows, clutching it to his chest. He knew he shouldn’t leave the group; the forest was dangerous enough when they were all together, and so confusing that he could be lost within minutes. Furthermore, Dorian could have been waiting around any corner.

But he couldn’t stand still any longer. He was sick of doing __nothing.__ A walk was better than stagnation, better than wrestling with his endless thoughts for a chance at the smallest bit of rest. He walked slowly, leaves crunching underfoot, and tried to make sense of everything that had happened.

He didn’t know how long he’d been walking when he heard it: footsteps, somewhere close, __too__ close. He froze, eyes widening, grip tightening around the shield generator. Could it be Patton, or Toby? What if it wasn’t? They were getting closer — heavy, strong footsteps, not Toby’s shuffling gait or Patton’s light step but something powerful and dangerous, definitely dangerous, and __god, he didn’t want to be a dandelion —__

A figure stumbled out of the shadows and froze, purple energy flying to his hand as he stumbled backwards. Recognition flashed across his half-hidden face. “What the __fuck,”__ he whispered.

“Funny, I’ve been asking myself the same question for a __week,”__ Logan snapped, striding forward. His irrational fear had given way to determination, and he’d been __damned __if he let Anxiety get away again. “I want answers, Anxiety.”

“How do you —” Anxiety shook his head, eyes narrowed. “I told you to __leave.__ What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for answers,” Logan said. “I’m looking for Roman.”

“No,” Anxiety hissed. “You’re looking for death. I don’t know how the hell you got in here, but you need to get out. __Now____.”__

“Not until I know what’s going on.” Logan crossed his arms, standing as close to Anxiety as he dared and drawing himself up to his full height. He didn’t have the most intimidating stature in the world, but it was enough to send a flicker of hesitation through Anxiety’s eyes. “Do you know where Roman is?”

“I can’t tell you!” Anxiety swore under his breath, eyes narrowed, foot tapping nervously against the ground. “Dorian would have my head.”

“So you know Dorian, then?” Logan asked, and Anxiety swore again. “Who is he to you? Does he have Roman? You owe it to me to let me —”

“I don’t owe you __shit,”__ Anxiety snarled, a hint of panic in his voice. “Do you have any idea how much I risked just to warn you? You were supposed to leave town. If — if he gets his hands on you, __everything__ is ruined.”

He hissed out a shaking breath, tugging at the end of his cloak. Logan frowned. Intimidation wasn’t working; Anxiety was just receding into himself, his expression tinged with panic.

“Look,” he said, as gently as the fire inside would allow. “You seem to be in danger. Whatever you are trying to do, I can help. I have two members of the Arcane Council with me. I’m sure that, together, we could —”

“You’re with __them?”__ Anxiety let out a noise somewhere between a strangled laugh and a panicked whine. “Great. Perfect. As if this couldn’t get a-any harder!”

“As if __what__ couldn’t get any harder?” Logan stepped forward, voice edging on desperation. “Anxiety, __please.__ I need information. I —”

He froze. There were footsteps, somewhere in the distance, growing closer. He gripped the shield generator and scanned the treeline, eyes narrowed against the darkness. Then came a voice, somewhere far off. “Logan? Where did you go?”

“Patton,” he breathed, relieved. Anxiety didn’t share his sentiment. He stumbled backwards, a gasp flying from his lips.

__“Patton?”__ he whispered hoarsely. __“He’s__ involved in this too? I — I have to go, __you__ have to go, this —”

Logan grabbed his arm as he whirled to run, holding tightly. “Please,” he said. “I just want to see my husband again.”

Anxiety stared at him, expression shifting from blind panic to something defeated. He yanked his arm away, let out a long, shaking breath, and reached into the folds of his cloak, drawing out a strange medallion. “A-A dragon’s eye,” he said. “You need it to find the keep. Once you’re there, get the weapon and get out. Act quickly, or —”

He cut himself off. Logan took the medallion, running his thumb over the strange inscription. The gem set in the center glowed at his touch, washing the two in soft golden light, and warmth blossomed in Logan’s chest. He peered at the strange letters engraved across the top, eyebrows furrowing. The words seemed… familiar. He knew them. Why couldn’t he read them?

“Thank you,” he said softly. “Will… will you be alright?”

Anxiety snorted. “I’m putting my one chance at freedom in the hands of a mortal, what do you think?” His voice broke at the end, and he tried for a weak laugh. He stepped back. “You’re lucky you have such an insistent husband.”

“Wha —” In a flash of purple light, Anxiety disappeared, and Logan’s exclamation died on his tongue. Did Anxiety __know__ Roman? Personally? It didn’t seem too far-fetched, if he knew Dorian. Burning cold regret flooded his lungs, and suddenly he wished he’d pushed a bit harder on Roman’s whereabouts.

His fingers tightened around the medallion. His one chance at freedom… that didn’t bode well. Was Anxiety trapped? He should have pushed his offer of help a bit harder, too.

But then again, maybe he shouldn’t have offered at all. He leaned back against a tree, lost in thought. Remy’s hatred of Anxiety, coupled with Anxiety’s own mysterious nature, and his connection to Dorian, didn’t make trusting him seem like the most logical choice. Then again, Remy’s judgement wasn’t exactly trustworthy, either. At least Anxiety had tried to help.

No, he __had__ helped. They could find the keep, now, and Roman’s secret weapon. He’d risked his own safety to warn Logan, too — but, of course, that could have been a lie. What if Anxiety’s “help” was a part of Dorian’s plan? By trusting him, he could be leading them all straight into a trap.

Well, not __straight__ into a trap.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Was there anyone he could trust?

“Logan?”

He gasped. In his excitement over the medallion, he’d forgotten Patton was looking for him. “I’m here!” he called, and his voice echoed back to him from a million different directions.

Patton ran into the clearing, breathing heavily. “Where did you go?” he asked, worry written across his face. “I woke up, and you — you were just __gone!”__

Logan hesitated. “I… I apologize, Patton. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to go on a small walk. I should have told you first.”

For a moment, something flickered across Patton’s face — a cocktail of worry and anger and fear and exhaustion, tied up with a bow of grief. But then it vanished, so quickly Logan couldn’t be sure he’d even seen it at all, and he smiled. “It’s okay, kiddo,” he said. “Just… please don’t wander off again, okay? It’s not safe here. I — what’s that?”

His gaze had travelled to the medallion in Logan’s hands. “I found it,” Logan said, and hoped that Patton wasn’t good at detecting lies. He wasn’t ready to put his conversation with Anxiety out in the open just yet, at least not until he knew who he could trust. “Half-buried, somewhere over there. What is it?”

Patton took the medallion, mouth open in a little ‘o’ of surprise. “It’s a dragon’s eye!” he said, relief coursing through his words. “Oh, I thought we might need one of these, but I figured we’d never find the right one! How lucky!”

“What does it do?” Logan asked, taking back the medallion.

“Well, dragons can be pretty secretive,” Patton explained. “Sometimes, they’ll create these little magical medallions, and link them to their keeps. The medallion becomes a key, and the keep becomes hidden. Pretty neat that you stumbled upon it!”

“Yes,” Logan said. “Shall we go find the dragon, then?”

Patton chuckled. “We need to sleep first, kiddo.” He yawned, stretching his arms up above his head. “You said you were having trouble sleeping? C’mon, I’ll give you a sleeping spell.”

“Didn’t Toby say not to use too much magic in the woods?”

Patton winked, a sly smile on his face. “A sleeping spell isn’t gonna hurt anyone,” he said, taking Logan’s hand and starting back towards their makeshift camp. Logan ignored the way his hand burned at the touch, peering at the medallion as they walked.

“Patton?” Logan asked. “What… what does this say?”

Patton took the medallion back, squinting at the words. “Boy, this is an old language,” he said, tapping the gem to send it's glow across the inscription. “Let’s see… um… ‘To my heart and soul, you hold the key,’ I think?”

“O-Oh.” Logan took the medallion back, something between warmth and heartbreak flickering in his chest. “Thank you.”

“No prob, bob!” Patton grinned, offering a cheerful two-fingered salute, and continued through the forest. Logan lingered behind him, running his finger along the inscription again and again and again. The words didn’t leave his mind even as Patton sat beside him and set his hand atop Logan’s forehead, whispering lilting words that brought darkness to the corners of his vision.

Roman must have engraved the dragon’s eye. There was no other explanation. But that implied, yet again, that Roman had known of events to come, that he knew Logan would someday find the medallion and use it to find his weapon.

He pulled his wedding ring from his finger, turning it over in his hand. He didn’t even have to look inside; he knew the engraving by heart, the message Roman had carved for him. He whispered it as he fell asleep.

“To my heart and soul, you hold the key.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Fair warning, Logan,” Toby said, lacing up his black boots. The medallion hung from around his neck, swinging on its crimson strap, back and forth, back and forth. “This is going to be _extremely_ dangerous. You’re probably gonna die.”

“Toby!” Patton chided, whacking him on the arm. “You’re not going to die, Lo. We’ll protect you!”

Toby stretched, his back popping. ‘Sure, yeah. Until __we__ die.”

“You don’t know that that’s gonna happen!”

“And __you’ve__ never faced a dragon before,” Toby said pointedly, “so I don’t think you have a leg to stand on here. We’re walking straight into the keep of one of the most vicious, protective, territorial beasts in the world. To __steal__ from her. A bit of anxiety over the situation isn’t gonna hurt us. Being complacent will.”

Logan glanced at the medallion. Technically, he wasn’t wrong. A bit of Anxiety had given them the opportunity to face the dragon in the first place.

“Toby is right,” Logan said. “We need to be vigilant.”

“Thank you!” Toby said, tossing his backpack over his shoulder. “See, Patton? Even the mortal gets it.”

He jerked his thumb at Logan and shot Patton a pointed look, and then turned on his heel and strode off into the forest, not checking to make sure they followed. Patton sighed, shouldering his backpack, and for a moment it seemed he was going to say something. Then he frowned, and walked off without a word.

Toby took the lead, strutting with the medallion out in front of him like a compass. With the Dragon’s Eye in his hands, the forest opened up before them, and where there had once been a maze of overgrowth and abandoned buildings, now there was a simple path, leading straight through. Logan fell into step beside Patton, watching as the plants receded and shifted around them, helping them through. Curiosity sparked to life in his chest. How did that work? How was the medallion capable of shifting reality in such a way?

“Pretty lucky that you stumbled on this,” Toby said, right when Logan was about to start asking questions. Logan closed his mouth and shrugged, pointedly looking at the ground.

“I suppose whoever used it last must have dropped it,” he said. “I happened to stumble upon it. Not luck, just coincidence.”

And technically, that wasn’t a lie. The last person who used it — Anxiety — had dropped it, right into his hands.

“Right,” Toby said.” He shot Logan a look over his shoulder, one eyebrow quirked, __something__ in his expression, and Logan was hit with the illogical feeling that he’d just read every lie off his face.

“Well, it’s a pretty happy coincidence!” Patton said, either unaware of the tension or completely aware and trying to diffuse it. “D’you think we can just sneak in? Do we have to fight the dragon?”

“Oh, yeah, no, we can __definitely__ sneak up on her. A creature with advanced hearing __and__ smell. No way she’ll sense us.” Toby rolled his eyes, his tone half-playful, half-serious. “Facing her head on is the only way to win.”

“Are dragons intelligent?” Logan asked, recalling what he knew of dragons from his world’s mythological lore. “Would it be possible to reason with her?”

Toby let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You wanna try that, be my guest. Dragons have more intelligence in one finger than the three of us combined. There’s no reasoning with them, or outsmarting them.”

Logan very much doubted that. There was nothing he couldn’t outsmart. He fell silent and slowed to the rear of the group, his thoughts swirling with possibilities. If only he’d had time to read up on dragons before they set off. There had to be a way out of this, one less dangerous.

The Dragon’s Eye was engraved with the same phrase Roman himself engraved in their wedding rings. According to Patton, dragons engraved their own medallions, which meant that somehow, Roman had been in contact with the dragon long enough to get it to engrave that message. According to Toby, however, dragons were vicious and territorial, and therefore unlikely to share their medallion with a human. Either Roman had defeated the dragon, or __befriended__ her.

Furthermore, she had Roman’s secret weapon, and had managed to obtain it without being seen in the city, which made Logan wonder if perhaps someone had brought it to her. Perhaps Roman himself. And if that was the case, it was likely that Roman trusted the dragon, and the dragon trusted him enough to hold the key to her home.

Toby didn’t seem like the most trustworthy person, all things considered. He was certainly on their side, and willing to help, but he was stubborn and unyielding, and he seemed as though he loathed to change his opinion on things. Facing one bad dragon might have soured his stance on the whole species, leading him to think them beasts, when perhaps they weren’t as vicious as he claimed.

If anyone could befriend a dragon, it would be Roman. Maybe his own ties to Roman could serve to calm the dragon, sway her to their side? But — if he was wrong, if Roman __had__ defeated the dragon and stolen the medallion — it could make her angrier. Did he dare risk that?

For Roman? Absolutely.

He quickened his pace to fall into step beside Toby — but Toby stopped in his tracks and held up a hand to stop him. “There it is,” he whispered, eyes narrowed as he took in the sight before them. Logan’s heart jumped into his throat.

It was a building, once, though it had been twisted and torn and destroyed until it was nearly unrecognizable. The walls had been shoved outwards, twisted at an angle, overgrown with trailing ivy and thick, mottled-green vines. The ceiling was half crumbled, and the floors had been torn out, leaving it an empty husk.

But it wasn’t empty. Through the shattered windows, Logan could see a maze of stuff, hoards ranging from piles of gemstones and golden trinkets to stacks of stuffed animals. The dragon was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is she?” Patton asked, yelping when Toby yanked him down behind a bush. He gasped, hope lighting up his face. “Maybe she’s not home! Gosh, that’s so lucky!”

“She could be hiding,” Toby muttered, never tearing his narrowed eyes from the keep. “Waiting to ambush. We can’t rush in. She’s probably waiting for us.”

“And if she isn’t, we are letting a valuable opportunity slip through our fingers,” Logan said, mapping out the keep in his mind. He had no idea what Roman’s secret weapon even looked like, but he felt sure he’d know it when he saw it. “We have the chance to sneak in, find the weapon, and get out before she returns. We cannot let this pass.”

“Logan’s right!” Patton said. “Even if she does appear, we can always fight her off, right? The two of us combined can take her! We can do this, Toby.”

Toby looked between them, sucking in a deep breath. “If I die,” he said finally, “I will haunt you two forever.”

“That’s the __spirit!”__ Patton giggled. “C’mon kiddo. Let’s do this!”

He was the first to spring out of the bush, starting down towards the dragon’s keep with an optimistic spring in his step. Logan took a deep breath and followed, brushing dirt from his pants, and Toby took up the rear, orange magic jumping to life around his outstretched hands. They squeezed through a crack between two walls, and stumbled inside.

Logan swallowed hard, eyebrows furrowing. The air inside the keep felt… __different. __Darker, almost, like the sunlight filtering through the cracks wasn’t quite reaching inside. It buzzed with a different kind of energy, so primal and powerful that every instinct in his body began screaming at him to run away. He almost listened.

But he couldn’t. He had a job to do. He set his hands on his hips, surveying each pile as he strode past, but nothing jumped out at him. The dragon’s hoards held everything under the sun — including the kitchen sink, though the porcelain was so cracked and overrun with moss it was almost unrecognizable.

The only thing he couldn’t find was Roman’s secret weapon. Toby told him to search for something with massive magical energy, something that felt so much like __Roman__ that it couldn’t be anything else, but he couldn’t sense anything beneath the thick fog of the dragon’s magic.

In the center of the keep, he stopped, letting out a long breath. He let his eyes slip shut, and focused solely on the sting of magic around him. Roman’s aura — his __magic __— had always felt as hot as a blazing fire and twice as bright, so different from the dragon’s dark magic swirling around him. He knew Roman’s magic. He could find it. He __had __to find it.

He breathed deeply, focusing, focusing… there! His eyes snapped open and his feet moved before his mind could catch up, carrying him to a pile at the back of the building. At first glance, it appeared to be a pile of trash — broken swords, crushed furniture, a torn stuffed toy or two. He knew that wasn’t the case. Roman’s energy flared so strongly at the top, he half-expected to see Roman himself waiting for him up there.

He wasn’t, of course.

Logan struggled to find his footing as he scaled the pile. “What are you doing?” Patton called, tilting his head to one side curiously. “Did you find something, Lo?”

“I think so,” Logan called back, leaning down to sift through the junk at the top. “Focus, Patton. I can feel Roman’s energy.”

Patton took a breath, eyebrows furrowing. “I… I feel it too,” he said, so softly that Logan almost didn’t hear him. “Do you think it’s the weapon?”

“Do you think you two could __shut up__ before the __massive deadly beast__ whose home we are invading __hears__ us?” Toby hissed, though he too watched Logan with anticipation.

“I think it is,” Logan said, lowering his voice. He shoved aside the remnants of a broken cabinet and paused, hand hovering over something shiny. He yanked it out, and the wave of warmth that washed over him almost sent him tumbling from the mountain.

It almost looked like a samurai sword, though the blade was made of some strange, black material, glittering like the night sky. The hilt was engraved with runes he couldn’t read, with a tiny, circular hole in the center. It glowed brightly at his touch.

“I —” he tried, but his voice came out halting and hoarse. Gently, he raised a hand to his cheek and found it wet. When had he started crying?

“What did you find?” Toby asked, leaning against another pile. Logan swiped at his face, thankful for the distance between them, and cleared his throat.

“A-A sword of some kind,” he said, tucking it under one arm so he could make his way back down the mountain. He slid to the bottom and held it out for Toby and Patton to see. “Is this it?”

Patton reached out, hesitated, and then gently set his hand down on the hilt. His breath hitched in his throat, and suddenly he was crying too, tears pooling in his eyes. “This is it,” he breathed. “This is Roman’s secret weapon.”

“That it is,” said a new voice, high and clear — and in a flash of bright scales, the dragon dropped down from the hole in the ceiling, and they stumbled and fell to the ground at the impact. Her long, tapered body curled around them, trapping them in a prison of iridescent scales, and Logan’s heart skipped several beats as she grinned, rows upon rows of deadly-sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight. “And you are some very stupid humans.”


	11. Chapter 11

Logan barely had time to react before Toby slammed his foot into the ground, sending out a wave of magic that shoved Logan right out of the dragon’s grasp. He slammed into one of the dragon’s piles and slid to the floor in a cascade of junk, black spots dancing before his eyes as he struggled to get a hold on his breath.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sheer__ terror__ the dragon evoked. She was massive, her long body coiled around and around to fit inside the building. Her head alone was the side of a small truck. Jagged, razor-sharp teeth jutted out from her jaw, and smoke billowed from her tapered snout, sparks flying through the air. Logan shook from head to toe, terror reaching up his throat to choke away all logic. He couldn’t __breathe.__

Patton and Toby moved in unison, firing off brightly-colored spells that collided with the dragon’s scaly hide with a noise like a train crash. She roared and let loose a volley of flames, which Toby just barely blocked with a flickering orange shield.

Logan balled his hands into fists and squeezed hard enough to draw blood, until the pain drove away his terror, until he’d regained some semblance of logical thought. There had to be something he could do to help. He wasn’t quite ready to reveal his connection to Roman just yet, too wary of what the dragon’s reaction could be — but that didn’t mean he had to be completely useless. He sucked in a deep, shaking breath, glancing around the room.

There! When Toby blasted him backwards, the weapon fell from his hands and landed embedded in a pile off to his right. He watched the battle for a moment — Patton pushed his hands through the air and a bright blue whip lashed around the dragon’s hind legs — and then he set off, inching along the edge of the pile, his hands tightening around his shield generator. If he could just reach the weapon, he could get it out of there. He could ensure their mission was complete.

The dragon’s tail swiped through the air above his head, sending the top of one pile flying. It clattered to the ground with a horrible noise, breaking Toby’s concentration. Logan froze, pressing himself back against the pile, but when he was sure he hadn’t been seen he continued.

The hilt of the weapon glowed in the firelight, and it seemed to grow brighter as he approached, as if it knew he was coming. He darted from the edge of one pile to the edge of another, inching around the perimeter until the weapon was close enough to touch. Hand shaking, he reached out and yanked it from the pile — and in doing so dislodged something very big and very heavy higher up in the pile, which came crashing down at his feet with a deafening clatter.

The dragon froze mid-fire breath, whipping her long neck around to stare right at Logan. He froze solid, his limbs locking with panic, his hands twisting around the hilt of the weapon — and his mind blanked beyond holy shit, holy shit, so this is how I die —

“Logan!” Patton darted forward, yanking the shield generator from Logan’s hands and slamming it into the ground just before the dragon’s massive claw came down on them. “What are you __doing?”__

He tried to answer, really, but all he could produce was a terrified squeak. Patton opened his mouth, glancing over his shoulder at Logan — and the dragon used his distraction and swiped through his shield with ease, knocking him into Toby and sending them both flying. They slammed into a wall and slumped to the floor in an unconscious heap.

And __oh,__ wasn’t that just __perfect.__ Logan stumbled backwards, mind racing — Patton and Toby weren’t moving, and the dragon was peering at him like a particularly nasty insect, and he had to get them out of there, somehow, but he couldn’t even breathe, let alone think — and the dragon lowered her massive head, until she was so close that Logan could feel her blisteringly hot breath. Sparks brushed against his skin.

“How did you even get in here?” she wondered, her long, snake-like tail wrapping around his middle and squeezing. Red-hot pain cracked through his ribcage as she lifted him off his feet, and he choked, darkness tugging at the corners of his vision. The end of her tail looped around the sword and tore it from his hands, and a cry tore itself from his throat. “Now, come on. That’s not yours, and you know it.”

The weapon’s warmth disappeared in a split second and the pain nearly doubled, flooding every inch of his body in a wave of agony. Black spots danced before his vision and he heaved for air, his lungs protesting every breath. He had to get the weapon back; he didn’t come this far just to __die.__

“Roman —” He gasped as the dragon’s tail tightened, choking on his own voice. She searched his face, eyes narrowing.

“What did you say?”

He winced, pain wracking his chest when he cleared his throat. “R-Roman,” he managed, his voice shaking and hoarse. “I know Roman.”

All at once, her grip loosened, and air flooded his lungs as he crashed to the floor. He doubled over, jagged agony shooting through every limb, colors popping behind his eyelids as he squeezed his eyes shut. He grit his teeth, a low whine building in the back of his throat. “F-Fuck,” he muttered, hands curling into shaking fists against the floor.

“How do you know him?” the dragon asked, and he could just barely hear her through the blood rushing in his ears. Was there anger, beneath her shock and confusion? He couldn’t tell. Logan breathed as well as he could through his broken ribs and raised his head to face the dragon.

“He was my h-husband,” he said, and the dragon’s eyes widened, a string of hissed curse words flying from her lips. She set the weapon gently on the ground and leaned in close, disbelief and concern warring in her emerald eyes.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “I — why didn’t you just say that?”

The pride at being right about the dragon knowing Roman was far overshadowed by the pain lacing through the growing numbness in his chest. He groaned, gasping for breath, and the dragon swore again. She gently lifted his head with the end of her tail, peering at him with narrowed eyes.

“Tell me again,” she said. “Tell me I can trust you.”

“He was my husband,” Logan said again, meeting her gaze with all the strength he could muster. “I loved him.”

She searched his face. “Logan,” she whispered. “You’re Logan.”

Had Roman told everyone in this world about him? He nodded weakly, falling against the dragon’s tail as pain spiked through his lungs. “Okay,” the dragon said, glancing around the room. “Um. Okay, okay, I — shit, you’re really messed up.”

“No shit,” Logan said, but it came out as a weak, wheezy groan. The dragon winced, her gaze falling on Patton and Toby.

“In my defense,” she said, “I thought you were just thieves. How was I supposed to know you’re my dad’s husband? I — I can’t heal you, do either of these humans know any healing spells?”

“Y-Yes,” Logan sad, and somehow he managed to lift his hand to point at Patton. A moment passed, then another — he blinked once, twice, the dragon’s words catching up to him — and then he froze. Her dad? “Wh — wait — how?” he spluttered, but the dragon had already curled up near Patton and Toby, poking at them with one claw.

Moving carefully, she pulled Patton off of Toby and propped them both up against the wall. She blew a burst of hot air against Patton’s face, and his eyes snapped open, a million emotions crossing his face all at once before he settled on fear. He jumped to his feet and blue sparks burst to life in his palms, spreading out into a long shield.

“S-Stay back!” he cried, as the dragon stood and glanced at Logan. Patton followed her gaze, and a cry of fright tore from his lips. “Logan? O-Oh no, are you okay? I’m coming kiddo, don’t worry!”

“Patton,” Logan yelled, “it’s alright! The dragon and I have reached an — an understanding!”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the dragon said, with every ounce of comfort a giant, hulking beast with rows of razor-sharp teeth could muster. “I mean — not anymore.”

Patton glanced between the two of them, eyebrows furrowing. He took in Logan’s injuries, concern lining his face, and craned his neck to look at the dragon as confusion joined the mix. His shield flickered away after a long, tense moment, and he set his hands on his hips. “Well, I’m very confused!” he said with a nervous laugh.

“We can explain l-later,” Logan said. He tried to stand and agony jolted through his torso, sending him crashing back to the floor with a cry of pain. “P-Please heal me.”

Patton was at his side in an instant, blue-coated hands pressing firmly against his chest. Warmth flooded through the numbness and drove back the pain and he made a small noise of relief, eyes slipping shut.

“I’ll, uh. Wake up this human.” The dragon moved to turn, and Patton cried out to stop her, his magic flaring painfully through Logan.

“A-Ah, let me do that!’ he said, wincing apologetically at Logan. “He might try to attack you before he understands what’s going on.” He lifted his hands and shook away the excess magic, and then sat back, raising an eyebrow. “What… what is going on, bye the way?”

Logan stretched, breathing deeply with relief. “The Dragon’s Eye was engraved with a… a message that Roman gave me, years ago. I assumed that that meant that he had interacted with the dragon at some point, and I was right. Once I told her who I was, she stopped attacking.”

Patton pulled Toby into his lap, whispering words that made the bruises littered across his skin fade away. “How do you know Roman?” he asked the dragon, his voice as kind as ever. Logan blinked, something hot and uncomfortable seeping into his chest. The fact that Patton already trusted Logan enough to trust a dragon…

The lies he’d been telling settled deep in his gut and burned.

“He’s my father,” the dragon said, and Logan choked, because somehow he’d forgotten about that little detail. The dragon laughed, settling her head on her folded claws like a cat. “Not biologically, of course. My parents were killed before I even hatched. If he hadn’t found me and taken care of me… I would have died. He’s the closest thing to a dad I’ve got.”

Patton cooed softly, hugging Toby to his chest. Logan could practically sense the oncoming tears. “That’s so sweet,” he said, choked-up. “That sorta makes you my niece, huh? And Logan’s like your step-father!”

Logan blinked. Logically, that made sense. He had married Roman; therefore, the dragon was his step-daughter. Somehow, though, he hadn’t made that connection until Patton said it aloud. A step-daughter. He had a daughter.

He took a moment to recover, and cleared his throat. “Y-Yes. I suppose I am,” he said, as evenly as he could manage. He’d gone from being utterly alone to having a brother-in-law and a daughter — and as the shock faded, he realized that he didn’t mind in the slightest. He tried for a smile. “Do you have a name?”

“Seraphina,” the dragon said. “My friends call me Sera, or at least they would if I had any friends.”

Patton made a high-pitched noise of sympathy, and Logan raised an eyebrow. Was that a sincere statement, or a Hercules reference? The latter was extremely likely, considering she had been raised by Roman. “Right, Sera,” he began. “We need some —”

“Holy shit —”

And Toby was awake. He leaped from Patton’s lap with a cry of shock, orange magic flaring around his hands. “Get back, you two!” he yelled, swaying unsteadily. Logan jumped between him and Seraphina on instinct, throwing his arms wide, and Patton grabbed Toby’s arm and yanked him back down with a loud cry of fright. Toby staggered to the floor, his magic fizzing and sparking, confusion and anger flaring on his face.

“It’s okay!” Patton yelled, a bit louder than he had to. “It’s okay, she’s a good dragon!”

“What?” Toby fought to yank his arm from Patton’s grip, but Patton was far stronger than anyone gave him credit. There was no escape.

“She’s on our side,” Logan insisted, as Seraphina nodded vigorously, curling in on herself to appear smaller. “She knows Roman!”

“What?” Toby looked between the three of them, face lined with shock.

“She’s Logan’s daughter!” Patton finished, and Toby went stock-still.

“What.”

His magic flickered out, and Logan sagged with relief, shooting a glance at Seraphina over his shoulder. “I believe we have some explaining to do,” he said, sitting back down with a heavy sigh.

“Damn straight,” Toby growled.

“Damn gay,” Patton said, in a voice so similar to Roman’s that Logan’s heart skipped a beat.

So Logan told the story a second time, with Patton interjecting puns every now and again, to his great chagrin. Seraphina kept her commentary to herself, watching Toby warily, her long, leathery wings shifting uncomfortably, as though she expected him to attack. Toby, to his credit, didn’t react badly. He stared at Sera for a long moment, on eyebrow raised, and then his gaze slid to Logan.

“I can see the family resemblance,” he said dryly.

“Shut up,” Logan said. Seraphina relaxed, resting her head on the floor beside Logan. She shot him a sideways glance when Toby snickered, and Logan raised an eyebrow back, rolling his eyes.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Logan began. “I have some questions, Sera.”

“Ask away, padre,” Sera said with a laugh. The corners of Logan’s mouth twitched. She was definitely Roman’s daughter.

“How did you get Roman’s weapon?” Logan asked. “Did he give it to you? Did he instruct you to take it? When did you get it?”

“He brought it to me,” Sera said. “About… nine months and two days ago. He only told me to protect it, and then he disappeared. He seemed… shaken. Scared.” She frowned, worry swirling in her deep emerald eyes. “I haven’t seen him since.”

Nine months and two days ago — in other words, two months after Roman “died.” If they needed any more confirmation, this was it. Patton shot Logan a wide-eyed look, barely contained hope lighting up his face.

“So Princey didn’t die,” Toby said, leaning back against one of Sera’s hoards. His eyebrows furrowed. “You’re sure it was him?”

Seraphina squeaked. “He — he died?” she exclaimed, head rearing up.

“I just said he didn’t, genius.”

Logan glared at Toby. “Obviously, he didn’t,” he said, deep in thought. “Both Anxiety and Dorian suggested that he is alive, and now we know that he didn’t die the night we thought he did. He faked his own death. Or someone else faked it for him, but considering he was able to bring the weapon to Seraphina months after the fact, that seems unlikely.”

“But why would he fake his own death? And how?” Patton asked, nose wrinkled in thought. “There was a body, and the only way he could have faked that is with —”

“With a duplication spell,” Toby cut in, tapping against his knee as he thought.

“But you said he gave up his magic to be with me,” Logan said. “How would he have cast a spell?”

“There’s more than one kind of magic,” Toby said. “Inherent magic is magic that you’re born with. It can only be used by people born here, and you’d need a near-constant supply of magic to live if you have it. That’s why we can’t spend too long in your world. That’s what Roman gave up.”

“But magic can be stored, too,” Patton continued. “Like — like your shield generator! We can push magic into objects and give them purposes, and then they can be used by anyone, anywhere, even a mortal in the mortal realm. But…”

Toby sat back, eyebrows furrowed. “But I’ve never heard of someone creating a stored duplication spell,” he said, crossing and uncrossing his arms like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I mean, duplicating a body, making it convincing enough that mortal doctors would consider it real? Even with inherent magic, that would be fucking impossible.”

“Dad loved to do the impossible,” Seraphina said. “I mean, just look at this thing.” She angled her head at the weapon, lying on the floor beside her.

“Speaking of that,” Logan said, “what is it? How does it work?”

Seraphina snorted. “Hell if I know, Dad never told me. But can’t you feel it? Whatever it is, it’s powerful. There’s a shitload of magic in there. Even I can’t produce magic that strong.”

Logan reached forward and drew the weapon into his lap, running a finger along the runes. Every person he’d met in the magical realm had a different buzz to them, a unique energy, but they’d all run together until the lines had blurred and he couldn’t tell what belonged to who. Roman’s weapon was defined in a way that nothing else had been; as sharp and as certain as Roman himself. If he could determine the difference, so unused to magic as he was, he couldn’t imagine how it was for experienced mages like Patton and Toby.

He slid his thumb over the small hole in the center of the hilt. There was an identical hole on the other side, forming an almost-tunnel. They didn’t seem to serve any purpose.

“Being obnoxiously talented was Princey’s thing,” Toby remarked with a shrug, and Logan snorted.

“Hey! Shush.” Patton whacked him in mock-offense, giggles tumbling from his mouth. He sobered quickly, though, and his brows knit together. “Why would he do it, though? Why didn’t he just ask for help?”

“Roman wasn’t often one to admit when he needed help,” Logan said. “Something made him believe that the only option was to fake his own death, and whatever that something was, he believed he could face it alone.”

The thought both saddened and terrified him. Roman had him, Patton, and the entire Arcane Council on his side, as well as whatever other resources the leader of magical New York could gather. If even that wasn’t enough, if he still believed the only viable option was to run away… it did not bode well. How alone had he felt, those last few days? How alone had he been ever since?

“Gee, I wonder who the ‘something’ could be,” Toby drawled sarcastically.

“Dorian,” Patton said, pain flashing across his face. “And if Anxiety is right… he ended up getting Roman anyway.”

Logan’s fingers tightened around the hilt of the weapon. “We will get him back,” he said, to himself as much as to Patton. “We have the weapon now. Our next priority should be to return to the council and determine how to use it. Then…”

“Then we find Dorian and bitch-slap him into next year,” Toby growled.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Crude, but you’re not wrong. There is another thing that’s bothering me, though,” he said. “Roman never told me about this place. I didn’t even know he had brothers. And yet, he told me where to find the weapon, and — and he engraved a message for me, in the dragon’s eye.”

“He what?” Toby asked, eyebrows raising. He yanked the eye from around his neck and peered at it, running a finger along the words. “To my heart and soul…”

“You hold the key,” Logan finished. “It’s the same phrase that he engraved in our wedding rings, so it seems likely that he meant for me to find the eye. That implies that he __knew__ I’d get involved in this, that he had knowledge of the future. Is that… possible?”

“Not… really?” Patton said, biting his lip in confusion. “I mean, I guess he could have seen a seer, but —”

“But even Princey wouldn’t be __that__ stupid,” Toby said, dropping the eye back around his neck. At Patton’s annoyed look, he rolled his eyes. “What? Everyone knows seers are bad luck.”

“No,” Patton said, “some people __believe__ seers are bad luck. That doesn’t mean that they are.“

“Doesn’t matter, anyway,” Toby said, rolling his eyes again. “There hasn’t been a seer born in our world for decades. I doubt he would have been able to find one.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too,” Patton said. He shrugged, mouth twisting into a confused grimace. “Just another mystery! We can ask him when we find him, okay?”

Logan nodded. “Right. Come on.” He stood, dusting off his pants, and offered Patton his free hand. “Thank you, Seraphina. Your help was invaluable.”

Seraphina rolled onto her back, wings spreading out beneath her. “You’re welcome, dad,” she said, equal parts sincere and teasing. Logan choked, shoving away the deluge of mixed feelings that threatened to swallow him whole. Behind him, Patton awwed so loudly, he wouldn’t have been surprised if they could hear it back in New York.

Bathed in sunset-light, the three climbed out of Seraphina’s keep and back into the forest. Logan held the weapon tightly to his chest as they trekked over the uneven ground, following just behind Patton and Toby.

They were so close. They had the weapon, a way to defeat Dorian, once and for all. They had answers, and above all, they had one definite truth: Roman didn’t die in the car crash. He was out there, somewhere. Logan could find him.

Logan could find home.

He smiled to himself, a sigh of relief falling from his lips. His shattered world was beginning to build itself back up, back into what it had been before.

A figure stepped out from the trees, golden eyes glowing beneath a hood wreathed of shadows. He blasted Patton and Toby aside without a moment’s hesitation, head tilting up, his mouth stretching into a wide grin.

“Hello, Logan,” Dorian said, and the world fell apart once more.


	12. Chapter 12

Shadows swirled between the trees, forming into hulking, growling beasts with molten-gold eyes. Dorian stood at the center. His warm smile promised safety. His eyes promised death.

“Well done,” Dorian said with one sarcastic clap. His shadow-beasts rippled and snarled, a moment away from tearing Logan to pieces. For a split second he spotted another humanoid figure, rippling like the other shadows, and then he blinked and it was gone. “You got to the weapon before me! I’ve been bested! Oh, if only this was a part of my plan all along! Oh, wait.” He grinned sickeningly. “It was.”

Logan stumbled backwards, panic lodging in his chest. His hands tightened around the weapon. “You’re not taking it,” he managed, and somehow his voice didn’t shake. Dorian laughed, high-pitched and cruel.

“My goodness, Logan, you’re hilarious!” he said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “You realize you have no choice in the matter, right?”

“Like hell he doesn’t.” Toby slid between them, his magic flaring into a massive, spherical shield that surrounded them on all sides. “Where the hell is your shield generator?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“I — Patton used it, back at the keep —” Logan’s voice cut off with a cry of panic. __Patton. __“Where’s Patton?”

He wasn’t in the shield. __He wasn’t in the shield__ — which meant he was somewhere outside, somewhere with Dorian and the beasts, somewhere in danger. Toby swore under his breath, his shield flickering.

“He was right next to me when we got pushed back, I thought —” Another cry of fright, this one high-pitched and pained. Neither Toby nor Logan had screamed. With dawning horror, Logan peered through the shield.

“I urge you to reconsider, Logan,” Dorian drawled, arms wrapped around Patton. Patton struggled, but his efforts were in vain; he couldn’t break Dorian’s vice grip. His eyes began to glow a soft, weak yellow. “I wouldn’t want to have to do anything drastic.”

Patton cried out again, and Logan’s grip on the weapon loosened. He couldn’t — __wouldn’t__ lose Patton — but to give up the weapon was to give up their chance at finding Roman. He couldn’t choose, there was no way he could —

“Logan,” Toby hissed. “I’m going to lower the shield.”

“What?”

“Listen to me!” he breathed, quietly enough that Logan could barely hear him. “Give it to him. When he lets Patton go, give it to him.”

“Are you — are you serious?” Logan hissed.

Toby growled. __“Give it to him,”__ he repeated, with a pointed look at the weapon. He reached into his pocket silently and drew out three shining marbles, flashing them for a split second before hiding them in his fist. Realization hit Logan, and he nodded, eyes wide. “Give it to him, and then grab Patton and jump back at me. Got it?”

Logan nodded.

“Alright, Dorian,” Toby growled, his shield disappearing. “Don’t hurt him.”

Patton struggled harder, molten-gold tears sliding down his cheeks. “No! No, you —” He choked as Dorian tightened his grip, tilting his head to one side.

“You’d really choose him over the opportunity to defeat me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Patton clawed at the arm thrown around his throat.

“Yes, we would,” Logan said, and Patton stopped struggling, tears pooling thickly in the corners of his eyes to wash away the molten gold. “He’s family.”

“Ha! How sweet,” Dorian said with a laugh. He loosened his grip on Patton and Patton heaved for air, coughing and spluttering.

“Logan, don’t!” Patton cried, desperate, as Logan stepped forward. His fingers tightened around the hilt of the weapon. Dorian smiled.

“I’m glad you came to see things my way,” he said smoothly, and loosened his grip on Patton further. Then several things happened all at once: Patton elbowed him in the gut and jumped away, the shadow-beasts lunged, and Logan swung the weapon through the air with all the force he could muster. It collided with the side of Dorian’s head with a sickening crack, too blunt to slice, and Dorian stumbled backwards with a cry of pain. The shadow-beasts disappeared.

“Logan!” Toby cried, as Logan lifted the weapon for another blow. Another figure darted out of the treeline, shadows solidifying into a person — and Toby darted forward, yanking Logan backwards by the arm. As orange light flared to life around them and the world began to dissolve, the new figure’s cloak blew backwards, and in the split second before they raised a purple shield and helped Dorian to his feet, Logan caught a glimpse of their face.

Of __his__ face.

Of sunken cheekbones and wide black eyes and a curtain of purple bangs — of someone he knew — of someone he thought he knew, someone who led them straight into a trap. __Anxiety.__

Toby’s marbles shattered on the ground and the world crumbled around them — and all Logan knew was the tight sting of Toby’s grip on his arm and the tight sting of betrayal in his chest. Anxiety was working with Dorian — Anxiety had tricked him. Anxiety had been the one to bring him into this mess in the first place; had everything he’d done since then been according to Dorian’s plan? Had Logan worked right into their hands?

The light flared and vanished as the council hall pieced itself together before them, and Logan landed on the hard council floor and stumbled to his knees, his vision blurring. Black spots danced before his eyes. Vaguely, he heard voices — “Oh shit, maybe I went overboard,” Toby muttered, and somewhere in the distance, someone who sounded like Thomas cried out in shock. Logan tried to stand, the council hall swimming before his eyes.

The world blurred and went dark, and Logan crashed to the floor.


	13. Chapter 13

Logan _ached._

He floated in a void of swirling shadows, surrounded by voices on all sides. Freezing cold wind rushed past his face, and the nebulous darkness tugged at his skin, forcing him to __listen listen__**_**_ listen._**_** His chest burned; his eyes stung; his head pounded with every word, every unintelligible garble the shadows threw at him. He couldn’t understand. __Why couldn’t he understand?__

He blinked once, twice, desperate to catch his bearings. This was a nightmare. He __knew __this nightmare — he’d been having it ever since he was a child. It was nothing but his mind’s attempt to rationalize all the darkness he’d been dwelling on, every ounce of stress that had been shoved into his bones from the moment he could think for himself, and therefore it was nothing to fear. He was in no danger.

Why, then, did he still tremble? Why did his hands shake as he raised them to his face, rubbing at his eyes as he tried to force them to focus? Why did the sight of the screaming shadows fill him with such dread?

“It’s only a nightmare,” he said, and the shadows took his words and tore them apart, spitting them back at him in a thousand different voices, a thousand different tones, each screeching with agony. He slapped his hands over his ears with a cry of pain, and a sob shattered suddenly in his lungs.

He wanted to wake up. He needed to wake up. Terror like he’d never felt before filled every inch of his body and he wanted to run, to cry, to curl up and escape escape escape —

The void disappeared around him.

A scream tore from his throat as he tumbled, colors and sounds rushing past him at blinding, deafening speeds. He crashed to the ground with a rush of pain, darkness dancing before his vision. Suddenly, the nightmare felt all-too vivid. He pushed himself to his feet.

His blood ran cold.

He knew these walls. The floors were barren, the walls empty, but he knew them all the same. His breath froze in his lungs, dread and confusion settling in the pit of his stomach. He’d never managed to escape the shadows before. Why was this nightmare different? And why __here?__

A noise, somewhere off in another room, stopped his thoughts in their tracks. He steadied himself against the wall, hands shaking. How many times had he walked those halls? The kitchen was waiting just around the corner, the bedroom just behind him, an all-too-familiar house of memories torn and twisted into something cold, something broken beyond repair.

His footsteps echoed around him as he set off down the hall. His limbs dragged, his body slow and unresponsive, as though he was drowning in molasses, and the noise grew ever louder. His fingers curled slowly around the end of the wall and he turned the corner, slowly, slowly —

And the world tilted on its axis and shattered.

__“Roman,”__ he breathed, haggard and broken, and rushed forward without a second thought. He fell to his knees before his husband, chest heaving, eyes stinging, and lifted a hand to cradle his cheek.

His hand slipped right through.

A sharp gasp tore from his throat. He tried again, and again, and again, pained desperation filling his lungs, but Roman never even looked up. It was like Logan didn’t exist; like he was a ghost. He stood and staggered backwards, his footsteps echoing deafeningly as he fought to reign in his panic. There had to be an explanation. There had to be a way out of this.

But he couldn’t think, faced with Roman in such a state — chained to the floor, his skin marred with a patchwork of mottled purple bruises and bright red scars. His half-lidded eyes glowed a soft, golden yellow as he stared at the ground, unmoving. Red-hot anger coiled in Logan’s stomach amid a cloud of grief. He wanted nothing more than to tear the chains away, tear Roman from this awful mockery of their former home and tear Dorian apart.

He yanked a hand through his hair, trembling, his mind racing. He had to be seen. __He had to make Roman see him.__ He kneeled back down in front of him. The air seemed to grow ten degrees colder.

“Roman, __please,”__ he whispered, hand hovering beside Roman’s cheek. “I’m here.”

Roman’s head snapped up, fear flooding his golden eyes. “Logan,” he managed, his voice tattered, desolate. He looked right through Logan, eyes searching for something that couldn’t be seen — but he seemed, at least, to know he was there. Logan sagged in relief, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, it’s me. Roman, I —”

__“Leave,”__ Roman growled, desperation shaking beneath his tone. “You can’t be here, you — you need to go home.”

Logan blinked. “No. Not until I save you,” he said, shaking his head. “I-I refuse to leave without you.”

“No, no no __no —”__ Roman winced, his voice shattering. His hands curled into tight fists against the floor. “You have no idea what’s coming, starlight. I can’t — I can’t lose you.”

“And I __won’t__ lose you again!” Logan burst out, slamming his hand against the floor. “Never again. I have the weapon. I have Patton, and the rest of the Council. We are more than capable of —”

“Patton’s involved in this?” Roman cried. “Logan, you — you both have to get away. As far away as you can. Take him and __run. Please —”__

“No!” Logan yelled. “I am not leaving you behind. If this… __whatever__ this is is real, I know where you are. I know how to find you. I’m coming for you, Roman.”

But Roman wasn’t looking at him anymore. His gaze slid up, up, to something behind him, and the golden glow around his eyes brightened, until his head slumped against his chest, his last protests dying on his tongue. Logan gasped, turning —

There was a flash of sickly yellow light —

And he woke up, drenched in cold sweat.


	14. Chapter 14

_“Roman,”_ he gasped, shoving himself up and falling right back down. The world tilted around him, unstable. His head _ached,_ flash-bulbs of color popping before his eyes. He curled his hands against the cold floor of the Council room and forced himself up, gritting his teeth. “I saw —”

His words crashed to a halt. The Council room grew very, very silent. Everyone stared at him like he’d grown a second head — Thomas, wide-eyed and hunched over a piece of paper scrawled with hasty writing; Patton, deeply pale and deeply upset; and Toby, who glared at him like he’d never seen him before. Cold dread seeped into Logan’s stomach.

“Why are you all staring at me?” he asked slowly, eyebrows furrowing. No one answered. Thomas and Patton shared a look, twin expressions of shock mirrored back at each other. Anger joined the dread, swirling together, and Logan stood, swaying unsteadily. “What happened?” he asked again, more forcefully this time.

“Logan,” Patton started, and his voice shook. “You’re — you’re a__ seer.”__

“Oh,” Logan said, before the words truly hit him. He blinked. “I — __what?”__

“A seer,” Toby said, stronger than Patton but still deeply unsettled. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“What are you __talking__ about?” Logan demanded, eyes narrowing. “A seer as in a fortune teller? That’s ridiculous, I —”

“You just spouted a prophecy,” Thomas said, holding up the paper. Logan could just barely make out the words written across it — __death__ was prominent, as well as the word __gold.__ Logan stared, heart pounding numbly in his chest.

“N…No,” he said, shaking his head. “I had a nightmare, that —”

“What kind of nightmare?” Toby asked, raising an eyebrow. He had a strange expression on his face — almost __angry,__ but not quite.

“A typical, stress-related nightmare. I… I was in a void, surrounded by shadows, and they were all… screaming at me. I couldn’t understand what they were saying.” He crossed his arms. “I’ve been having that exact dream since I was a child. It means nothing.”

“Since you were a __kid?”__ Patton asked, his voice ever-so-soft.

“Yes,” Logan said, words tumbling from his mouth in a mad rush to rationalize the situation. “It comes from growing up in an unstable household. My recent stress has put me back into a… similar emotional state. It stands to reason that __that’s__ why the nightmares have returned. It’s completely normal.”

“No it’s not,” Toby said. “Mortals don’t spout prophecies because of __stress.__ No one spouts prophecies because of stress.”

“No one spouts prophecies at all, anymore,” Thomas said. “But you did.”

“No, I didn’t!” Logan said, stepping back. “There must be some kind of mistake. I wouldn’t — it makes no __sense.”__

The floor had disappeared beneath him, leaving him trapped in a sickening free-fall. He burned beneath their scrutiny; two sympathetic gazes and one suspicious, closed-off glare. Thomas sighed.

“It’s no mistake,” he said. “We all heard you. You’re a seer, Logan.”

Logan took another step back, blood rushing in his ears. A thousand words — protests and retorts and desperate pleas for help — died painfully on his tongue, twisting together until all he could do was open and close his mouth again and again, gaping like a fish.

“Does —” He cleared his throat, face burning. “Does that change anything? For us? For — for Roman?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Toby said, at the same time Patton shook his head. He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, guys? Seers are __notoriously__ bad luck. We can’t let him come with anymore.”

Logan’s world came crashing down. “But —”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Thomas said, with a stern look at Toby. “Your superstitions don’t justify excluding Logan entirely, Toby. But…”

“No,” Logan said, before Thomas could finish. “I — I cannot be left out of this. Y-You cannot deny that I’ve helped. I found the Dragon’s Eye, I figured out that Seraphina knows Roman, I —”

“No one’s saying you haven’t been helpful,” Thomas said. “But you have to understand. Seers are __impossibly__ rare. If Dorian were to find out what you’re capable of, he’d stop at nothing to get you under his control. We can’t let that happen.”

“That won’t happen,” Logan said. “I can take care of myself, I won’t let him —”

“No, you can’t,” Patton said softly, wincing, as though every word caused him pain. “Logan, you’re… you’re __really__ smart, and I know you’re capable in your world, but here… you really have no idea what you’re up against.”

“And we sure as hell don’t have time to protect you,” Toby said. “According to your prophecy, we’ve got an entire fucking __apocalypse__ to prepare for.”

“W-What?” Logan asked, eyes widening.

“’Beasts of gold and world of silver,’” Thomas recited. “’End of all, beginning of one.’”

“Dorian’s going to destroy the world to take over,” Toby said.

“That — you can’t just — that could mean anything,” Logan said quickly. “I won’t let you leave me out of this just because —”

“Logan,” Patton said, his voice firmer than Logan had ever heard before. His face was like stone; gone was the softness Logan had grown to expect, the cheerful attitude he seemed to hold above all else. Logan’s mouth shut. “Dorian already wants to use you. We can’t give him any more reasons to hurt you.”

“Right now we just… we have to prepare,” Thomas said, sounding all-at-once ten years older than he appeared. “We have to figure out what all of this means.”

“And we have to stop it,” Toby growled.

“You’re welcome to help us decipher it, if you want?” Thomas offered, and Logan could hear the pity dripping so strongly from his voice that something deep in his chest snapped. He took one step back, and then another, heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears — Patton stepped forward to try to stop him and that was all it took.

Logan ran.

Logan ran, whirling through the council door, ignoring Patton’s cries and Toby’s frantic swears — he ran through the empty halls, his breath hitching and shattering in his chest to the beat of his feet against the floor. He didn’t know where he was going — he didn’t know what he was doing — he didn’t know __anything.__

Before he knew it, he was out in the street. He heard Patton’s voice behind him and he ducked into the crowd, weaving through the ocean of mages as quickly as he could manage. He gripped his tie like a lifeline, running faster, faster, __faster —__

He ducked into an alleyway and stumbled to the ground, his breath short and sharp in his chest. His fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, tighter, tighter, until pain bloomed in his palm and sliced through the blind panic seeping like fog through his body. Panting, he shoved himself further into the shadows, watching the crowd rushing past the alley for a flash of blue or a hint of orange.

A tense minute passed, and neither Patton nor Toby appeared. It seemed he’d managed to lose them in the crowd. He slumped against the cold bricks, his panic giving way to a deep, cold dread.

He was a seer.

His eyes slipped shut as he tried to get his thoughts under control, tried to rationalize the situation. He was a seer. He could see the future, somehow — and, according to the others, he’d been doing so since he was a child. But why did he have to spout some ridiculous prophecy __now?__ It had been so long. He hadn’t had one of those nightmares since…

Since a week before Roman left.

A sharp gasp sliced through his throat. All at once, panic began to flood his lungs once more, until every ounce of logical thought he’d managed to regain had been washed away. Everything he’d seen so far suggested that Roman had knowledge of the future. That he knew what was coming, and thought the only way to prevent it was to leave.

_ _Logan was the reason he left._ _

__“No,”__ he croaked, squeezing his eyes shut, squeezing a hand over his mouth. It all made sense. He was the reason Roman left — the reason Dorian had been able to capture him. Everything that had happened, every ounce of pain Roman had been through…

It was Logan’s fault.

It was all his fault — unknowingly, unwittingly, he’d managed to tear apart his own life, shatter what little semblance of normal he had, and in doing so he’d shattered countless other lives. Roman’s pain and Patton’s grief and Dorian’s victory — they all led back to him.

And he’d only made it worse by running. Now — now he was completely __alone.__ Toby would never trust him again. Patton and Thomas would only lock him away if he went back. He couldn’t trust any of them. He couldn’t even trust himself.

But there was no going back, now, and the road before him was becoming clear. It was his fault — which meant it was his mess to clean up. His problem to resolve. He had the weapon, and if his dream was to be believed, he knew where Roman was. He’d find no help anywhere else. He had to do it alone.

He had to fix the damage he’d caused.


	15. Chapter 15

He was halfway to the house when the world exploded.

The sky filled with sickly yellow light, powerful magical energy rushing past him quickly enough to tear trees from the ground and send them flying. But even as it tore up the world around him, the energy didn’t touch him. The first wave passed quickly, dangerously fast, and a beacon of molten gold shot into the sky, blazing brighter than the sun.

Logan mapped out the city in his mind, and wasn’t at all surprised to find that the beacon was coming from his old house. His feet carried him towards the light before the terror in his lungs could freeze him, and he held the weapon even tighter, face hardening. People rushed around him, panicked, terrified, and they paid him no mind.

The weapon thrummed in his hands, a deep, steady hum, melodic and comforting as it urged him on. He ran a finger down the hilt, his thumb catching in the hole. It was barely half an inch deep, with grooves dug around the side, as though something was meant to slot inside. A key, maybe?

Oh.

_ _Oh._ _

His feet didn’t slow, even as his mind reeled with the realization. The weapon was filled with Roman’s __magic —__ his lifeblood, essentially. In other words: __his heart and soul.__ And to his heart and soul, Logan held the key.

Mind racing, he pulled his wedding ring from his finger and held it up to the hole. The sizes matched up perfectly; it would be a perfect fit. Could it be that easy, that poetic?

Of course it could. Roman had designed it.

A shaking breath fell from his lips as he slipped his ring back onto his finger, bold determination sparking to life in his gut. It didn’t feel like he was marching towards his own death anymore; rather, he felt like he was marching towards someone else’s. He’d cracked the code, solved Roman’s puzzle, just as Roman must have known he would — and now he could give Dorian back every ounce of pain, every moment of grief, that he himself had been suffering with since Roman left.

The house came into view, and he stopped without meaning to, grief slipping, unbidden, into his chest. The windows were shattered, the wood rotten and twisted beyond repair, empty and barren and wrong wrong __wrong__ in too many ways to count. It was only a reflection of the home he once had, he knew that — but that fact didn’t make it hurt any less. Facts rarely did.

Golden light emanated from the attic window, bursting through every hole in the dilapidated roof. Even as it brushed past him, leaving him unscathed, the impossible __power__ of the golden magic sent cold, buzzing fear jumping into Logan’s throat. He’d never felt magic like this before.

With a wave of warmth, the weapon spurred his feet into motion. Dorian was powerful — but the weapon was, too. Logan only hoped it was enough to stop him, once and for all.

He slipped his ring back off his finger and held it up to the hole as he stepped into the wreck he’d once called home. The moment he stepped over the threshold, silence fell over him like a thick, suffocating blanket. His footsteps echoed down the hallways no matter how softly he stepped. His heart pounded in his chest, and for a long, paranoid moment, he wondered if it was loud enough for Dorian to hear, loud enough to get him killed.

He held the weapon tighter.

His feet carried him down the path from his nightmare even as a small, foolish voice in his mind screamed at him to stop, to turn and run and get help. But there was no one who would help him, not without hiding him away first, and he couldn’t, __couldn’t__ be taken from his husband again.

Roman was exactly where he knew he would be, but Logan still cried out the moment he saw him, rushing to his side in an instant. The room swam before him as his eyes began to sting, his hand shaking as he lifted it to hover beside Roman’s face. __“Roman,”__ he whispered, and his voice shattered, shards of broken glass landing on his tongue. Slowly, he brought his hand down to cradle the side of Roman’s face.

And Logan touched Roman for the first time in months.

It burned, it ached — Roman’s skin set fire to Logan’s hand and it raced up his arm, sinking deep into his bones, filling his lungs with ash — and he wanted __more.__ He pressed his forehead up against Roman’s with a desperate, pained noise, his tears burning their frigid tracks down his cheeks.

With a soft, pained groan, Roman shifted, eyes fluttering open. Their eyes met, and Roman’s filled with tears, a desperate gasp falling from his lips. “Logan,” he breathed.

Logan surged forward and pressed their lips together, and Roman’s words died on his tongue. The fire spread between them until they were both aflame — Logan’s hands tangled in Roman’s hair and Roman leaned into him with aching desperation, and they pressed closer, closer, __closer__ —

Roman pulled away with a sharp, pained gasp, pressing his forehead into Logan’s. “What are you doing here?” he whispered, his voice trembling so badly that Logan could barely understand him.

“Rescuing you,” Logan said. “I told you, sunbeam. I’m not leaving without you.”

Tears pooled in Roman’s eyes at the nickname, spilling over onto his cheeks. “Y-You idiot,” he whispered. “You brave, wonderful idiot, you — it’s all happening exactly like —”

“Like I said it would?”

Roman cut off with a choked gasp. “You — you know?”

“I only just learned,” Logan said. “I… spouted a prophecy in the Council hall. Given your strange behavior and your apparent knowledge of the future, coupled with my… my abilities, it wasn’t too hard to determine that I’m the reason you left.”

“Logan —”

“It’s my fault,” Logan continued, and he really, really wanted to stop, but the words poured from his mouth in a deluge of guilt and desperation and every ounce of grief he’d shoved away. “I — somehow, I made you believe that you had to leave, that you had to face things alone, and because of that, Dorian was able to capture you. It’s — it’s all my fault —”

__“Logan,”__ Roman said sharply, and __there,__ there was a hint of his passion, his fire, beneath the grief and the pain. “That night, you predicted that Dorian would come for me. That if you got involved, you — you would __die.__ I thought I could change the future by leaving.”

“I —” Logan’s voice broke. “You could have told me, we could have figured it out together. You didn’t have to __leave.”__

“I-I know,” Roman said, his voice just barely above a whisper. “I panicked. I couldn’t — I couldn’t __lose__ you.”

“So instead, you made me believe I lost you?” Logan dragged a hand across his eyes, swiping away the tears that refused to stop gathering. “I — do you have any idea what I’ve been through? How much that hurt? Roman, I though you were __gone,__ I thought I had lost you forever, I —”

“I know,” Roman said, a sob tearing through his words. “I know, I — I regretted it as soon as Ieft, but I thought I was protecting you. And it didn’t even work! Dorian — he knew I was still alive, and of course he knew about you, so it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.”

“I —” Logan cut himself off with a sharp sigh. “It doesn’t matter. Right now, we have to get you out of here. We can… talk later.” He set the weapon on the floor beside Roman and kneeled down behind him, grabbing the chains that bound his hands to the floor. “These don’t appear to be magical.”

“They’re not,” Roman said. “Magical bindings would have probably killed me.”

Logan dug a pair of pins from his pocket and lifted the chains. “There is one thing I don’t understand,” he said as he worked, twisting the pins through the keyhole with a practiced precision. “If your goal was to keep me away from all of this, why did you leave so many clues that only I could figure out?”

“Because I know you, starshine,” Roman said. “The last thing I wanted was for you to come here, but I knew there was a chance you’d find this place — or it would find you. I wanted to give you a fighting chance. I meant to give the other key to Patton, with a letter explaining everything, so you wouldn’t be the only one with the answers, but… well, you can see why I didn’t get the chance. I ended up giving it to Vir —”

Logan yelped as the chains were suddenly jerked from his grasp, and Roman cut off with a choked gasp, both hands rushing to slap over his mouth. Yellow light flared around the chains and yanked them away, forcing Roman down.

“Such a lovely reunion,” Dorian said softly, his slow claps echoing unnaturally through the room. “It’s a shame I have to cut it short. Hello again, Logan.”

For a moment, Logan couldn’t move. His breath caught in his throat beneath a wall of words and he choked, insults laced with venom dying on his tongue. Something was… wrong. Deeply, deeply __wrong.__ Golden light __burned__ around Dorian’s figure, acrid smoke curling through the air; and with every move he made the light shifted to follow, afterimages searing along beside him. __Something__ flickered around him. Logan blinked and it was gone.

Roman cried out as the chains grew tighter, pressing his face into the floor. Logan didn’t hesitate — he shoved away his terror and grabbed one of the shackles, jamming his lockpick into the hole. Dorian tutted, golden magic swirling from his fingertips to wind, snake-like, around Logan’s limbs, but he __fought__ with all his might against them, and with one final jerk, the shackles fell to the ground.

And Logan was jerked up and away from the floor, coils of magic lashing around his wrists and burning into his skin. Pain flashed up and down his arms but he refused to scream, refused to give Dorian the satisfaction. His job was done; Roman was free, and the weapon was at his feet.

__“Let him go.”__ Roman’s voice dripped with venom, his face contorted with rage. He lifted the weapon towards Dorian, the tip pointing straight at his chest. But Dorian… didn’t look scared. He raised a disinterested brow, waving a hand through the air to draw Logan closer.

“Have you discovered a way to make that __thing__ work without a key?” he asked, smug victory laced through his tone. Roman’s expression faltered; his fingers tightened around the hilt of the sword, doubt flashing in his eyes. “You never cease to amaze me, dear brother. Go on, then, if you’re so confident.”

Logan strained against the bonds with all his might, desperate to reach his wedding ring, desperate to somehow, somehow give it to Roman. A searing golden coil snaked across his mouth before he could cry out, and tears gathered, unbidden, in his eyes.

“That’s what I thought,” Dorian said. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to give me the weapon, and you’re going to give me the key,” he said, pointing to Roman and then to Logan with all the languid ease in the world. “Then, you will either return to your mortal world and leave this one to me, or you’ll die by my hands. Either way works for me.”

“No,” Roman said, lifting his head to glare regally down at Dorian. “I won’t leave this world to suffer. I won’t let you win again.”

“Oh, honey, it’s a bit too late for that,” Dorian said, and the golden magic flowing from the attic pulsed as if to prove his point, washing the world outside in a sickly yellow glow. “I’m trying to spare you. Don’t play the hero, Roman. This world is a lost cause.”

“I would rather __die__ than let you destroy my home,” Roman spat. He stood tall despite his bruises, shifting the weapon in his hands as he shifted into a fighting stance. Logan’s heart stopped; the magic binding him flared painfully. Dorian’s form seemed to flicker — a thousand emotions crossed his face before he settled on a cold, placid rage.

“How noble,” he whispered. “You would sacrifice your own life for your home. Tell me, Roman…” He lifted a hand and Logan drifted towards him. Darkness tugged at the edges of his vision; the pain had begun to subside into a dull, throbbing numbness. Probably not a good sign. “Would you be as eager to sacrifice __his?”__

Horror flashed across Roman’s face. The weapon lowered; he seemed close to dropping it. Dorian laughed, high-pitched and cruel. “You’ve forgotten who holds the cards in this scenario,” he taunted. With a sick grin, he twirled the end of the magical ropes around his finger. “Tick-tock, Roman. I need an answer.”

“I —” Roman’s gaze caught on Logan and his eyes filled with tears. Logan shook his head. __Don’t do it,__ he pleaded silently. The weapon was their only hope; Logan’s life wasn’t worth it.

“Time’s up.” Dorian closed his fist around the rope — and they tightened so swiftly that colors popped before Logan’s eyes, agony racing through every inch of his body. Darkness sank into his bones and tugged; he was coming apart, coming undone, dissolving under the pain —

And then it stopped. Cold relief dripped through the searing pain, and bit by bit the darkness receded. He was on the floor, cold tiles digging into his face. Someone was talking to him — their voice pitched with panic, their hands shaking as they urged him to his feet. A face swam before his eyes.

__“Roman,”__ he wheezed, his voice haggard and raw. “Where… where is the…?”

He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to; with a dawning horror he realized where the weapon had gone, his gaze trailing up Dorian’s form. He turned the weapon over in his hands, slowly, deliberately, glee sparkling in his eyes. His sclera had begun to turn __black,__ Logan noticed with a start.

“Perfect,” Dorian whispered. His voice echoed through the room, double-edged, __wrong.__ Roman shook, the blood draining from his face.

“You’re not Dorian,” he breathed.

“Of course I am,” Dorian said, tilting his head to the side. “Just not as you knew him, I suppose. You see, I’m not __alone__ anymore.”

He spat his words with such venom and such force that Roman nearly toppled. Suddenly, Logan was supporting him just as much as he was supporting Logan. That horrible __something__ flickered around Dorian’s form again, hideously golden, and it was gone in the blink of an eye.

“Now then,” Dorian said, moving his terrible gaze from Roman to Logan. “The key, if you don’t mind.”

“N-No,” Logan managed. Dorian having the weapon was bad enough; he refused to give him the power to activate it. “I don’t know how to activate it. I — I don’t know what the key is.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, Logan,” he said. “I am not an idiot, and neither are you. You wouldn’t have rushed into this without knowing how to activate the weapon. Give me the key.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to Roman. Roman shook his head minutely, terror painted across every inch of his face. Something was deeply, __deeply__ wrong. Logan clutched his husband even tighter, narrowed his eyes, and spat in death’s face.

“No,” he said again, as forcefully as he could manage. Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“You really don’t know when to quit,” he said, lifting a hand. Logan braced himself — no matter what happened, no matter what sort of pain Dorian could invoke, he wouldn’t give up the key. Yellow light flared and pushed against them like a wall of fire, painful, __agonizing —__

Until a deluge of purple pushed it back.


	16. Chapter 16

_“Get away from them,”_ said a new voice — a _familiar_ voice, a figure standing cloaked in darkness among a sea of purple and black. Dorian cried out as he was shoved backwards, the weapon falling from his hands with a clatter — his magic dissolved and the smoke cleared, and Logan’s eyes widened.

“Anxiety?” he whispered.

“Virgil!” Roman cried, his face lighting up with relief and pride and excitement all at once.

“Hey, Princey,” Anxiety — __Virgil__ managed, beads of sweat lining his brow as he held Dorian back. His magic flared a million shades of violet, reflecting off his pale skin. For a moment, it seemed as though it would be enough to keep Dorian down; he struggled beneath the deluge, pain flashing across his sallow face.

But then Dorian pushed back with a furious growl, and yellow overtook purple until both colors vanished in a rush of smoke. When it cleared, Dorian was on his feet, breathing heavily, rage twitching on his face.

“I should have known,” he growled, yanking his cloak back into place. “I should have known that you would be too __cowardly__ to listen to me. What did Roman tell you? What __lies__ did he use to make you betray me?”

Purple magic jumped back to life around Virgil’s hands. “He made me see that there’s more to life than just — than __this!__ He made me feel like I’m __worth__ more than this! That’s more than you __ever __did.”

“I __loved you!”__ Dorian yelled.

**_**_“You hurt me!”_**_** Virgil screamed, with all the fury of a thousand nights of pain. “Again and again and again — and you made __me__ hurt everyone who ever actually cared about me! I’m done! You can’t control me anymore!”

__“Fine,”__ Dorian said, molten gold lashing around his hands, eager to attack. “Then you’re in my way, and you will be eliminated with the rest of this world. We could have had it __all,__ Virgil. The future was __ours.”__

“I don’t want any part in your future,” Virgil snarled. “And you’re not going to be doing __any__ eliminating today.”

Dorian blinked, his face going blank. “So confident,” he said, his voice eerily calm, devoid of the ragged emotion he’d held just a moment ago. “I’ve already enacted the spell, Virgil, and you alone cannot stop it. This world will be destroyed, and I will usher in a new one. You could have ruled alongside me; now you will die at my feet.”

Virgil glanced back at Logan and Roman, his eyebrows furrowing. “I’m not alone,” he said, softly at first, and then again, __stronger.__ He lifted his head, standing tall. “And maybe I can’t stop you… but __they__ can.”

“Who —”

The wall behind Dorian __exploded__ in a kaleidoscope of a million colors, dozens of different magics bursting through to wrap around Dorian, twisting again and again and again until he was bound from head to toe. It barely slowed him down — he burst through with a flash of gold, with a flash of fury, and raised a shield against the man cloaked in blue who stepped through the hole in the wall, followed by the Arcane Council.

“Get out of here,” Virgil hissed at Roman and Logan, as Patton countered Dorian’s attacks. Logan had never seen such __anger__ on Patton’s round face; righteous fury flashed behind his glasses, spurring on the azure flames that curled protectively around him. Roman gazed at his brother like every problem in the world had just been solved, his name falling softly from his lips. Neither could find it in themselves to move.

“That’s for hurting my friends!” Patton cried, shoving aside Dorian’s magic and pushing him back with a blast of blue. “That’s for tearing apart my family!”

The other Council members fanned out around him, throwing attack after attack until Dorian could barely keep up. For the first time, Logan saw fear in Dorian’s eyes. Virgil joined the attack, standing beside Toby like he’d always been meant to stand among them, his magic lashing through the air.

Dorian fought viciously, molten gold dripping down his arms — but for every ounce of fury in his attacks, the Council returned it tenfold, anger laced through every shade of the rainbow. He was shoved back, further and further, until he was cornered against a wall —

And he didn’t have the weapon.

__He didn’t have the weapon,__ Logan realized with a start. It sat abandoned behind the battle, glimmering in the magical light. He gripped Roman’s hand and Roman followed his gaze, his eyes widening. His ring seemed to burn insistently on his finger, pulling him towards it.

Hand in hand, they dodged through the battlefield. Logan scooped the weapon up off the floor, and Roman placed his hands over his so they were holding it together. Warmth bloomed from the weapon’s core and flowed through them both, driving away their pain, filling them with strength.

**_**_“Enough!”_**_**Dorian bellowed, shoving out a wave of magic so powerful that the entire Council was pushed backwards. Logan braced himself — but the magic parted around them the moment it hit the weapon’s tip. Dorian panted heavily, his clothing torn and his hair disheveled and his skin marred with a myriad of cuts and bruises. Molten gold dripped from each cut, and slipped, like tears, down his cheeks, trailing from his inky black eyes. He didn’t even look human anymore.

Logan suspected that he wasn’t.

His dark eyes landed on them and widened, a hissed curse falling from his lips. “Roman,” he breathed. “You wouldn’t kill your brother, would you?”

__“You’re not my brother,”__ Roman snarled. “I know exactly what you are. I know exactly what you’re trying to do.”

Dorian — or, rather, the __thing__ that wore Dorian’s face, froze. Then he began to laugh — slowly at first, so faintly that Logan could barely hear him, but then he grew louder, his laughter hinging on insanity, cold and high-pitched and horribly cruel. “Congratulations,” he said, and suddenly the __thing__ flickering around him came into full view, if only for a moment. Logan caught a glimpse of long, golden fur and deeply malevolent golden eyes, dripping with darkness and blood. “Took you long enough to figure out.”

“The Golden One,” Patton whispered behind them, terrified realization shaking through his voice.

“A destroyer of worlds,” Roman continued for him, when Patton’s voice failed. His grip around Logan’s hands tightened. “He invades realms, destroys them, and then replaces them with his own. He and his silver beasts lay waste to every living creature they can find.”

Logan’s eyes widened. His breath hitched in his throat. “Beast of gold and world of silver,” he breathed, so quietly that no one heard him. His prophecy was right. He couldn’t bring himself to say the next words — __end of all, beginning of one.__ Instead, he slipped his wedding ring off his finger, with a silent promise to never let it come to pass.

“I don’t know what you did to my brother,” Roman said, his voice reverberating powerfully around the room, “but for his sake, I will stop you. For __everyone’s__ sake, I will stop you. This ends __now.”__

The beast snarled, Dorian’s face contorting with rage. Molten gold dripped from his hands, surrounded by a fog of yellow magic, casting sickly light across the room. Roman lifted the weapon; Logan pressed his ring into the hole.

Light burst to life around the blade — a burning crimson fire, spreading down the hilt. Though smoke curled from the flame, Logan felt no heat. It spread up Logan’s arms and grew until it engulfed them both, blazing bright red; power buzzed through his chest and glowed in his lungs, burning with potential. He tightened his grip on the weapon.

The world seemed to stop, time itself holding its breath — in one moment they stood, silent, on opposite sides of the room, their magic waiting — and in the next moment —

The beast’s magic rushed forward and Roman and Logan released their hold on theirs — and the two powers collided in the middle of the room, in a rush of heat and blinding light — and the weapon’s magic burned through, piercing the veil of gold —

And it collided with Dorian’s chest, crimson spreading along his golden veins, engulfing him, surrounding him — the weapon shook in their hands, the warmth reaching a burning peak, the light growing brighter, brighter — the beast flickered around Dorian and bellowed in pain, gold giving way to crimson rot as it dissolved beneath the magic —

And with a rush of heat and a mad burst of light, it exploded.


	17. Chapter 17

Someone was calling his name.

They sounded faint, far away; he could barely hear them through the loud ringing that surrounded him on all sides. He grimaced, colors popping before his eyes as he squeezed them shut. The voice grew insistent; he couldn’t quite make out their words. He shifted, rolling over to hit his alarm clock and stop that incessant ringing —

His hand hit solid tile.

That wasn’t right. His eyebrows furrowed, his thoughts slowly crawling out of the depths of sleep — and with them came pain, a dull ache through every inch of his body. His limbs buzzed with static. What happened? Why —

_ _Oh._ _

He fought through the darkness tugging him back into unconsciousness and shoved himself up, gritting his teeth through the pain. The house around him was destroyed — the walls had been blasted to pieces and the roof had caved in on one side. Sunset-light filtered in through the holes, and ashes danced between the beams.

“Roman,” he whispered, stumbling to his feet. It seemed he was the first one awake; the others laid, unconscious and unmoving, around him. He took a shaking step forward and fell to his knees beside Patton, laying a hand on his chest. It was faint, but he could feel his heartbeat, and his chest rose and fell evenly. He was alive.

But where was Roman? Logan stood and turned on the spot, refusing to focus on the dread pooling in his stomach. Logically, he knew that Roman had to be __somewhere.__ He couldn’t have just vanished. There was no reason to be scared.

_ _He had never been so scared._ _

He caught a glimpse of curly brown hair and his feet moved before his mind could catch up, carrying him towards the prone, limp body of his husband. His legs gave out; he fell to his knees, his breath stuttering to a stop. __No,__ he thought, setting a hand atop Roman’s chest. __No. No, no no —__

“Roman,” he whispered, gathering his husband into his arms. “Roman, you — this isn’t — you __can’t —”__

Burning tears slipped down his cheeks and landed on Roman’s unmoving chest. A sob shattered in his lungs as he curled over Roman’s body, clutching him to his chest. “You can’t leave me again,” he breathed, his voice raw. The injustice of it all twisted like thorns through his lungs and crawled up his throat, tangling in his grief, and a whine built into a horrible cry in the back of his throat. His fingers curled into the fabric of Roman’s shirt, gripping tighter, tighter, __tighter —__

__“You can’t leave me,”__ he repeated, again and again and again, as though the words could change reality. His chest heaved with agonizing sobs. He came all this way just to watch Roman die again — just to lose him again. He clutched Roman even tighter, crying into his shoulder. “Please — sunbeam, __please —”__

The sunlight faded around them, shadows crawling across the room. The dust settled. The world went utterly silent.

And Roman coughed.

Logan froze, his eyes snapping open, hope barely daring to peer through the tangle of thorns in his chest. Tears filled his eyes as Roman shifted against him, coughing weakly. __“Roman,”__ he managed, his voice shattering, and Roman groaned and sat up, his eyes bleary with pain. Logan’s chest began to heave — he sobbed again, pulling Roman into his arms and holding him so tightly he almost worried they’d both break into pieces.

“H-Hey, starshine,” Roman wheezed weakly.

__“You’re alive,”__ Logan said, again and again. He wouldn’t — __couldn’t__ let go. __“You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive —”__

“Y-Yes, I… I am.” Roman finally sank into his touch, breathing a sigh of relief. “We’re alive. We’re okay.”

Logan sobbed into his shirt, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric. He was never going to let Roman go again. Slowly, they drew apart, their faces mere inches from each other. Roman leaned his forehead into Logan’s, his eyes slipping shut — Logan pressed forward, pressing their lips together ever so gently.

“I missed you, sunbeam,” he whispered as they pulled apart.

“I missed you too, starshine,” Roman said, and pushed their lips together once more. They pressed together, closer, closer — Logan tangled his hands in Roman’s hair and Roman held him so tightly that Logan felt like nothing could ever tear them apart again. Roman laughed into the kiss, the sound joyful and free, and Logan found himself laughing too, tears streaming down his cheeks as they laughed in each other’s arms. It was okay. __They were okay.__

_ _“Roman!”_ _

A blur of blue barrelled into their sides, tackling them both to the floor. Patton wrapped his arms around them both, squeezing so tightly that Logan could barely breathe. He sobbed into Roman’s chest, shaking. “You’re — you’re __alive,__ you’re __okay,__ you —”

He drew back, whacking Roman on the shoulder. “Don’t you __ever__ scare me like that again!” he cried, and immediately tackled Roman in another hug.

“Patton,” Roman said softly, his arms hovering around Patton. Slowly, hesitantly, he drew his brother into a hug, his eyes slipping shut as he rested his head atop Patton’s. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

“You’re never allowed to die again,” Patton mumbled into his chest.

“I know,” Roman said, his voice thick. “I know, I won’t. I promise. I’m not leaving you again.”

He shifted Patton into his lap and rested his other arm around Logan’s shoulders, drawing him into his side. Logan leaned eagerly into his warmth, winding an arm around his waist. He could have fallen asleep just like that, wrapped up in his family — but then Roman started, a gasp flying from his lips, and Logan jerked away, adrenaline shoving panic through his veins.

“What — He cut off, tensing. A figure stood before them, his cloak torn, his face ashen, one leg curled behind him as though he was ready to run at any moment. He glanced warily between Logan and Patton.

“Anxiety,” Logan said softly.

Roman laughed. __“‘Anxiety?’” __he repeated. “Is that what you called yourself? And here I was thinking you couldn’t get any edgier.”

Virgil crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “I couldn’t exactly tell him my __real__ name, could I?” he asked, gesturing to Logan. Roman laughed again. “Shut up. Anyway, I — I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just… wanted to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Patton echoed, sitting up straighter. “Why? Where are you going?”

Virgil shifted uneasily. “I have things to do. Mistakes I have to fix.” He bit his lip. “And I have to do it alone. So. Goodbye. Thanks for… for everything.”

And he turned to leave. Roman sighed dramatically. “Oh no you don’t, Finding Emo,” he said. “You’re not alone anymore. We’re __all in this together.”__

Logan snorted into the back of his hand, fondness blooming in his chest. He didn’t think he’d ever miss Roman’s nonstop Disney references, but now that they were back, he didn’t know how he’d ever lived without them.

“If that was a reference to something, I don’t get it,” Virgil said, hesitantly turning back towards them. “Look, it’s sweet that you wanna help, but… you’ve already helped me enough. You’re together now. Go home, be happy, all that shit.”

“How am I supposed to be happy without my best friend by my side?” Roman protested.

Logan looked between the two of them, eyebrows furrowing. What happened between them? Obviously, Virgil seemed to think he owed Roman a great deal, and Roman seemed to have grown very attached to him. He caught Patton’s questioning gaze and raised an eyebrow, shrugging.

“Besides,” Patton said, “I think you owe me and Logan an explanation.”

“Yes!” Roman said. “Ah, it’s quite the tale! Don’t make me tell it alone, Virgil.”

Virgil shifted awkwardly, glaring at the floor. “I —”

“Virge~” Roman sang, making grabby hands towards him. “Please?”

“Fine!” Virgil snapped, dropping to the floor and crossing his legs. At Roman’s insistent glare, he inched forward until he was within arms’ reach, not meeting anyone’s eyes. He crossed his arms beneath the tattered remains of his cloak and glared resolutely at the ground.

“Okay,” Logan said, raising an eyebrow. “Explain. Please.”

Roman caught his gaze and took a deep breath. “Let’s start at the beginning…”


	18. Chapter 18

“So,” Roman began. “Logan’s a seer —”

“You’re a __what?”__ Virgil asked, head whipping around to stare at Logan. Logan swallowed hard, shoulders tensing.

“Hush, Gerard Gay, I’m telling a story here.” Roman waved his hand dismissively. “About a year ago, he… gave me a prophecy in his sleep. And I interpreted it to mean that… Dorian would come for me. That he would kill Logan if I stayed, if I let him get involved in any way.”

“But I’m not dead,” Logan pointed out.

“No, you’re not,” Roman said. “My interpretation might have been… wrong. It seemed obvious at the time, but prophecies are meant to be ambiguous and vague. It's easy to get it wrong.”

“You jumped to a conclusion,” Logan said, raising an eyebrow. “And you acted rashly as a result.”

“I… I did,” Roman agreed. He shifted uneasily, not quite meeting Logan’s eyes. “I was scared, but that doesn’t excuse what I did. If I had just __stayed,__ maybe — maybe things would have gone differently.”

Logan placed his hand over Roman’s and laced their fingers together against the floor. Their eyes met — and Logan found that it was still just as impossible to stay mad at him as it was before. How infuriating.

“What was the prophecy?” Patton asked, glancing around. The rest of the Council was back on their feet, mostly; they milled around, healing each other and just barely beginning to celebrate their victory. Logan could hear the relief in Patton’s voice; his family was okay.

“‘He who seeks to steal the throne,” Roman began, “will find the one who gave it away; he who rules a world of gold sends his puppet out to slay.’”

“Dorian,” Virgil said, shoulders tensing. Roman nodded.

“Exactly. Patton told me how hard he fought to get a seat on the Council, and how offended he was when they wouldn’t give it to him. He wanted to steal it, and I gave it away.” Roman twisted his fingers in his lap, an old nervous habit he’d had since Logan had first met him. “At first I thought __Virgil__ was the puppet, because Dorian sent him after me quite a few times while I was on the run, but… I guess Dorian himself was the Golden One’s puppet.”

“Sorry about that, by the way,” Virgil said, glancing over his shoulder at Dorian’s body as if he’d get back up again.

“All water under the bridge of friendship, Hot Topic,” he said. “Anyway, uh. ‘Beloved husbands, torn apart. Beloved husband's time is nigh. Beloved husband finds his heart. Beloved husband, he must die.’ I assumed that was referring to you, Logan. You’re certainly my beloved.”

Logan made a noise somewhere between a cough and a squeak, his cheeks dusted with pink. “But again, I didn’t die,” he said, pulling the tattered remains of his tie back into whatever approximation of fixed he could manage. “You… appeared to be dead, for a few moments, but obviously, you didn’t die either.”

Roman shrugged. “I think I did die,” he said, eyebrows furrowing. “I may not have my magic anymore, but this is still my home. This place strengthens me. Even if my heart stopped for a few moments, that alone might have been enough to revive me. That, and — well, I could hear you calling out to me, Logan.”

Finally, he caught Logan’s gaze, and any response Logan could have possibly given died on his tongue. Roman stopped twisting his hands in his lap to take Logan’s hand again; Logan’s skin burned at the contact but he wouldn’t pull away to save his life.

“So you two are even more infuriatingly gross when you’re together? Great.” Virgil rolled his eyes, lips pursed sharply to keep from smiling. Patton nudged him in the arm, one hand held delicately to his cheek like he’d start crying at any moment.

“I think it’s cute,” he whispered, and — yep, he was crying. Tears began to fill his eyes and he sniffled. Virgil blinked, holding his arm, his eyebrows furrowing.

Roman winked at Virgil and continued. “‘Brothers caught in endless war; brothers trapped in heavy chains.’” He glanced at Patton. “‘One rules; one hides; one kills.’ That’s… us, obviously. Me, you, and… Dorian.”

“Heavy chains…” Logan repeated. “Roman, your chains were literal. Dorian appeared to be chained to the Golden One. Patton…?” He trailed off; Patton’s expression had shifted ever-so-slightly, a flicker of pain passing through his eyes, gone in the blink of an eye.

“Huh?” Patton shook himself, lips quirking up into a smile. “Oh, you’re wondering what my chains were? Well, I dunno! I don’t feel chained to anything, but I guess that could __chain-ge__ at any moment.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. He remembered a few earlier conversations that seemed to indicate the opposite. “Are you sure?”

“Sure-tainly!” Patton said with a giggle. “Besides, this __chain__ of events really helped tie up all those loose ends. Everything’ll be fine from here on out!”

“Right…” Virgil said, one eyebrow quirked in suspicion. He shared a Look with Roman, eyes flicking to Patton, concern and confusion written across his face, and Patton pretended not to notice. Roman shrugged and cleared his throat.

“Uh… ‘The seer will follow, and death will follow him,’” he continued. “‘Victory waits within the Hollow, and waits within a prophecy grim.’”

“Sleepy Hollow!” Patton burst out, his face lighting up. “I completely forgot — Roman, we met your daughter!”

Logan choked, the memories suddenly snapping back into place as Roman gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth in surprise. “Oh — oh my goodness, you met Sera! How is she? Is she okay, is she safe, how —”

“She’s fine,” Logan said, clearing his throat. “It was a… bit of a shock to meet her, as you can probably imagine. You — you don’t have any… other —”

“No,” Roman said quickly, with a nervous laugh. “Just Sera. Was it a… bad shock? I mean, you don’t have to like her, she’s not your responsibility —”

“No! No, she’s… wonderful,” Logan said, face coloring. “I simply didn’t expect — I mean — she’s a __dragon.”__

“I found her egg out in the forest ten years ago,” Roman said. “Her parents had been killed. I wasn’t about to let her die, too, so I took her in and took care of her. She imprinted on me the moment she hatched, and, well — the rest is history.”

“That’s so cute,” Patton whispered through his fingers, his hands smooshed up against his cheeks happily. “You should have seen Logan’s face when she called him ‘dad,’ I’ve never seen him so happy!”

Roman gasped. “She called you __dad?”__

If the windows around them hadn’t already been broken by the blast from before, Patton and Roman’s twin squeals would have shattered them. Logan shoved his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and pursed his lips, not quite meeting either of their gazes.

“Yes, she did,” he said, and even as embarrassment curled in his stomach, happiness floated just above it, a deep golden fondness at the thought of Seraphina. He shook his head. “Roman, continue the prophecy. Please.”

__“We have a child together,”__ Roman whispered, ignoring Logan completely, and Patton squealed even louder.

_ _“Roman.”_ _

“I’m sorry, I just —” Roman’s hands flapped through the air excitedly. “Okay. Uh… ‘When he trusts none and believes all, the final battle will begin. Puppets freed; the chains will fall. Death will reap and you will win.’”

“Who’s __he?”__ Virgil asked, picking at a hole in his jeans.

“I… I think it’s me,” Logan said, biting his lip in thought. “Right before I came here, I felt… I mean, it seemed as though… I didn’t think I could trust anyone. I saw you helping Dorian in the forest,” he said, turning to Virgil, who winced apologetically, “and I assumed that you had tricked me, that giving me the dragon’s eye was all a part of Dorian’s plan. Then I discovered that I’m a seer, and everyone seemed to want to lock me up because of it.”

__“What?”__ Roman interrupted, eyes widening.

“F-For his own protection,” Patton said, eyebrows furrowing. “I didn’t want to, I promise, but… we figured it would just give Dorian more reasons to want to hurt him, y’know? We were scared.”

“I see that now,” Logan said, nodding, “but at the time, it seemed like no one would help me. Like… like I was alone. I believed that, with the weapon, I could fix everything on my own. I trusted none and believed all, I suppose.”

“I’m so sorry we made you feel that way,” Patton said, his voice ever-so-soft. Logan waved his hand dismissively.

“I understand your actions, there is no need to apologize.” He quirked a brow. “Besides, I think everything worked out in our favor regardless. It was meant to be this way.”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, drawing a knee up to his chest and resting his arms around it. “I mean, seeing you rush in here spurred me to go get the Council for help. And without me, they couldn’t have gotten through Dorian’s spell. If you hadn’t come… I think he would have won.”

Patton nodded. “We owe a lot to you, Virgil,” he said earnestly, offering Virgil a kind smile. Virgil’s face darkened; he looked away, his bangs falling in his face to hide his pink cheeks. “Anyway, now we know the prophecy. What happened after?”

“Well…” Roman sighed. “I went on the run for as long as I could manage. Once I figured out that Dorian knew I was still alive, I took the weapon, changed it so that people other than me could activate it, and gave it to Seraphina. Patton, I was going to give you the other key, and a letter explaining what had happened, but… I never got the chance. Dorian caught me, and I was dragged along with him as he searched for the weapon. When I wouldn’t talk… he decided to go after you.”

“And that’s where I come in,” Virgil spoke up suddenly. Roman shot him a searching look, his eyebrows furrowing, and Virgil nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Yeah, I can… I can tell it. I met Dorian way before all this shit happened. We were friends, and then… more. A lot more. When Roman faked his death and Dorian started trying to get his spot on the council, my brother and I tried to help. We were a team, back then.”

“Your brother?” Logan asked.

“I’ll get to that in a second,” Virgil said, waving his hand dismissively. “When they refused to give him a seat, he… started searching for other ways to get power. He disappeared for a few weeks, and when he came back, he was… different. The Golden One had gotten to him. He had the power he wanted, but he wasn’t __himself__ anymore. Honestly, I’m not sure if there was any of him left by the time you guys took him down.”

Patton and Roman had grown very still, and very silent. Patton held himself tightly, his fingers digging into his arms. Virgil didn’t meet either of their gazes. “Around the time that he caught Roman and started torturing him for information, my brother and I decided to leave. We were gonna escape together, go on the run until we could build a new life for ourselves, but… I was weak. Dorian had too strong of a hold on me. I chickened out at the last minute, and my brother… he got captured by the Council.”

Patton’s eyes widened. He leaned forward, disbelief sparking to life in his eyes. “What was your brother’s name?”

“Remy,” Virgil said, and Logan’s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized it before, but now he could see the resemblance; they had the same sharp chins, the same dark eyes. That explained Remy’s hostility. “Do… do you remember him?”

“Of course I do,” Patton said, slapping a hand over his mouth in shock. “He escaped a few months after we caught him, and we’ve been trying to — I mean, he’s been eluding us ever since. Just… causing chaos all over.”

“Exactly,” Virgil said. “He’s trying to find me. He’s probably pissed out of his mind over what I did.”

Logan pressed his lips into a thin line. “That’s… one way to put it, yes,” he said. “He attacked me about a week after you saved me from the shadowbeasts. He thought I knew where you were. He seemed… a little unhinged, in all honesty.”

“I’m not surprised,” Virgil said softly. “That’s… that’s why I have to go. I have to find him, and set things right.”

“Then I’ll come with you,” Patton said suddenly. “Toby and I, we’ve been trying to find your brother for __years.__ Toby’s got tons of information on him. I’m sure if we work together, we can find him!”

Virgil blinked. “You don’t have to —”

“I want to,” Patton said, his voice firm. “It’s my job, first of all, but… you shouldn’t have to face this alone. We’ll find him, I promise.”

Crimson spread from Virgil’s cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. He held Patton’s gaze for a long moment before turning away, glaring resolutely at the floor. “Right. Yeah. Uh.” He cleared his throat. “Sure.”

Roman raised an eyebrow and caught Logan’s eyes, and Logan shrugged.

“Anyway,” Virgil said, voice gruff. “After that, Dorian settled down here, and left me to keep an eye on Roman while he searched for the weapon alone. I was… in a really dark place, then. Remy was gone and Dorian kept disappearing for weeks on end and I didn’t know what to do. And Roman… he helped me through it. I was his __enemy,__ and he still helped me out.”

“Not at first,” Roman admitted. “But once I saw how you were without Dorian around, I knew there was still good in you.”

“Ugh, shut up,” Virgil muttered, dropping his face to rest in the crook of his arm. “Anyway, eventually,” he continued, voice muffled, “he trusted me enough to send me out to help you, Logan. He gave me the dragon’s eye and the other key to his weapon, and… he gave me hope again. I wouldn’t have been able to break free of Dorian’s control if it weren’t for him.”

“No, no,” Roman said, fondness swirling beneath his soft voice. “That was all you, Virge. All I did was talk to you, you’re the one who took action. You saved yourself.”

“Wow, the great Roman, being modest? Amazing.” Virgil quirked an eyebrow teasingly, lifting his bright pink face out of his arms. At Roman’s offended gasp, he laughed. “Sorry, it was getting too sappy. I can’t stand that shit.”

“Do you still have the other key?” Logan asked, glancing at Roman’s bare hands. Virgil dug into his pocket and drew out the ring — __their__ ring, the one that Logan had spent months painstakingly choosing. Roman reached out for it but Logan took it first, turning it over in his hands hesitantly.

He took a breath and took Roman’s hand, a thrill of warmth shooting down his arm at the touch. Ever-so-gently, he slid the ring back onto Roman’s finger, and then stood, pulling Roman up. “There,” he said, with a fond smile.

Roman laughed wetly, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. He leaned in for another kiss, and Logan was all-too-happy to oblige; their lips pressed together in a burst of warmth, and Logan could have stayed that way forever. When they pulled apart, he slipped his arm around Roman’s waist, and held out his other hand to Patton, pulling him to his feet. Patton giggled and helped Virgil up as well, intertwining their fingers with a cheerful grin, and though Virgil blushed profusely and mumbled something incoherent, he didn’t pull away.

Logan leaned into Roman’s side and smiled, a few stray tears sliding down his cheeks. It felt like the world had finally righted itself; like he’d been hanging upside-down for far too long, like finally, finally, he could stop holding on and start __living__ again. He squeezed Patton’s hand and let out a breath, happiness blooming in his chest. This felt right. This felt —

“Guys?”

Toby stood beside Dorian’s body, peering down at it like a particularly nasty piece of garbage. They went to join him, still arm-in-arm; Logan tightened his hold around Roman’s waist and squeezed Patton’s hand comfortingly. It was hard enough for him to look at the body, and all Dorian had ever done to him was hurt and deceive him. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for the two of them, to see their brother killed in such a way.

“I don’t understand how that shit didn’t destroy him,” Virgil said, nose wrinkling warily. “That weapon was some of the strongest magic I’ve ever seen, it should have eviscerated him at the very least.”

Patton whimpered, his grip around Logan’s hand growing even tighter. “I-I mean — uh.” Virgil cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Roman said, his voice thick. “I don’t understand either. He… he shouldn’t be here.”

“I can’t sense any magic on him,” Patton said. His voice shook like he was on the verge of tears, and he held Logan’s hand like a lifeline, never tearing his watery gaze from Dorian’s body.

“Yeah, his magic’s gone,” Toby agreed. “The Golden Bitch probably took it with him when it died.”

“So you think it’s dead, then?” Logan asked. It did seem that way; the beast had disintegrated around Dorian with a final, agonized scream, and the spell upstairs vanished. The outside world seemed to have been returned to normal. Even the air itself felt different — like a great evil had been torn from it.

“I sure as hell hope so,” Toby said. “It makes sense, with your stupid prophecy. If the Golden Bitch is gone, its little silver bitches are gone, too. According to the old myths, their lives were all connected.”

“‘End of all,’” Logan recited. “Do we know for certain that the myths are true? What if they aren’t connected? And what about the rest of the prophecy? ‘Beginning of one.’” He readjusted his glasses, mind racing. “Who — or what — is beginning?

“Maybe it was referring to me?” Roman asked. “It certainly feels as though my life is beginning anew.”

“Could be me,” Virgil said. “I’m not trapped with… with __him__ anymore, I can start over.”

Logan opened his mouth to speak, questions rushing through his mind — but then Toby tensed, and held up a hand to stop him. Eyes narrowing, he kneeled beside Dorian, placing a hand atop his chest. Logan’s blood ran cold.

__No.__ He pulled himself out of Roman and Patton’s grip and kneeled beside Toby, setting his hand on Dorian’s chest. __No. __There was no way; it made no logical sense.

Gently, faintly — so weakly that Logan just barely felt it — Dorian’s chest rose and fell.

Patton covered his mouth in shock, tears filling his eyes. “Is he…?”

Logan’s heart pounded in his throat. He nodded.

“He’s alive.”


End file.
